The Good Stuff
by RhondaStar
Summary: I got bored with trying to figure out ways to get them together and decided instead just to have some fun! So here they are, married, and skipping right to the good stuff... A sweetly romantic take on their first few days as husband and wife.
1. Chapter 1

_Sometimes you get frustrated with trying to figure out how to get them together and just wanna skip straight to the good stuff! Forgive historical inaccuracies - I just wanted to have fun and somehow it took on a life of its own and has grown into this sprawling piece. _

_Enjoy and please leave me a review if you feel so inclined._

* * *

They were married at the start of summer, two days prior to the family heading to London for the season. It would be different this year though, the first in forever it seemed, for Charles would remain in Yorkshire. He and Elsie would take two weeks to themselves. Thomas would get his chance in London, with Mrs. Patmore, Bates and Anna, keeping an eye on him, and Downton would have to survive without either of them for fourteen whole days. Charles wasn't sure if he was more nervous that they'd fail or succeed. Everybody wants to be needed.

As expected it was a simple, antiquated affair. The village church, Beryl and Daisy, to Charles' utter joy (and Elsie's utter surprise) Lady Mary found her way there too, seated at the front with George toddling about by her legs.

After there was food at the house, Lord Grantham toasting the pair 'finally' finding their way together. Tipsy from champagne and far too much rich food they headed for bed, leaving behind the noise of the downstairs staff enjoying themselves a little too much. But for one night only it didn't occur to either of them to mind.

It wasn't until alone, in one of the vast guest rooms Lady Grantham insisted they take for their wedding night, that they had a moment to dwell on the fact that now – finally – they were man and wife.

They stood by the grand door staring at the lavishly decorated bed; it was three times as big as the tiny singles they had slept in for most of their lives. And they'd be together. It was nonsensical to imagine that neither of them had thought of that fact, but it was quite another to be faced with it.

"I had to admit," she said gently, her ankles aching from heels slightly higher than she was used to. "I'm rather nervous."

He smiled, turning his head to look at her, "As am I."

Now she smiled, reaching to hold his outstretched hand, "And a little tipsy too, I believe that Champagne was rather strong."

"I'm exhausted." He admitted.

"Quite a day."

"Yes." He squeezed her hand, "quite a day."

"We should have brought tea up."

"I can fetch some." He said. "Whilst you…" it was odd to him how ill-prepared he felt for all this. "…perhaps take a bath."

If she was surprised by his suggestion she didn't show it, only nodded, "I suppose we should make the most of the facilities, for one night only."

"Yes."

She let go of his hand, moved further into the room, took off her coat and laid it on the bed, slipped her tired feet from her shoes. Behind he watched, suffused with joy and comfort, the nerves were settling.

"I think I'll save this blouse for Sundays, it seems a shame to simply box it away."

Ever practical. "Yes, it would be a shame; you look so lovely in it."

She turned to him as she chuckled, "It may take me a while to get used to you being sentimental."

He frowned, "Not sentimental, merely truthful, and I hope I am always that."

"Oh yes, though at times you need a little prodding in the right direction."

He frowned, shaking his head, only she could needle him in such an enticing way, "I'll go get the tea, would you like anything else?"

"I'm fine thank you; I don't think I could eat another thing."

When he returned to the room, tray in hand, the lamp by the bed was on but otherwise the room was in darkness. There was a faint light from the bathroom and he closed his eyes and swallowed, glad of the Port he'd slipped onto the tray; he drank his down in one.

"Charles?" She asked, her voice shaky, he doubted he'd ever heard it that way before.

"Yes, it's me." He stepped towards the door, stopping when he heard the splash of water. Retreating again he busied himself with pouring the tea.

"Would you like the bath after me?"

"Erm, yes," he spluttered, "please."

How did one handle being a newlywed? Married to your best friend. There wasn't a handbook on that.

He slumped into a chair, removed his shoes and socks and placed them neatly beneath the chair. Then his jacket was hung up, along with his shirt, until he stood in his trousers and a vest, listening as she got out of the bath. With red face and blood pumping to every nerve ending he imagined her naked a few feet away, pink and flushed from the warmth of the bath. He pictured her dressing. Tidying her hair. Then she was there, in the bedroom. Soft and incredibly pretty.

"That feels much better." She said as she passed him, moving to where her bag had been left (supposedly by Anna) and taking out a pot of cream which she set about applying to her face. "You'd better go, before the water cools."

The thought of lying where she had just been was almost his undoing. Coming up behind her he placed his hands on her upper arms and kissed the back of her head. Then, without saying a word, went to take his bath.

After, he found her dozing lightly in the bed, tucked up on the left side. Tiptoeing he moved around the room, hanging his trousers, trying not to even breathe for fear of waking her, she looked so at peace.

Standing beside the bed he contemplated what to do. It was foolish of course to consider sleeping in the chair, or moving a blanket to the floor, they were married. It would be highly irregular to do so on one's wedding night. Besides that, he feared hurting her, and he'd never want to do that.

Removing his robe he drew back the corner of the duvet, watching as she turned over, her back to him now, settling into her pillow. He watched her back, the slope of her shoulder, the way her nightgown disappeared beneath the duvet. Finally he climbed in beside her. Extinguishing the lamp he lay on his back and listened to her breathing. The very air smelled of her and the bed was warm with her beside him.

Sleep was easing in, his eyes heavy, he turned onto his side, facing her back and was rewarded with her moving back against him, he snatched his arm up as she leant back on it, only to find instead she leant against his chest. Warm and heavy against him – real. His arm came to rest over her hip on top of the duvet; he closed his eyes, allowed the goodness of the day to sweep over him and his brain to drift into slumber.

* * *

The following morning she woke first, the morning sun was faint through the heavy drapes, which she was glad of. She breathed deeply, her body settled, warm and comfortable. It took a few moments for her to realise she was snuggled against Charles… snuggled, the word had been alien to her the day before. But that was indeed her situation now, his breathing deep and even on the back of her neck, his arm heavy over her waist as he held her tight against him.

She wiggled forward a little, easing onto her back so she could look at him. Her husband. She'd waited a lifetime for it.

With little thought she leant upward and kissed the corner of his mouth. At the touch he seemed to wake instantly, his grip tightening, his breathing changing. She kissed him again, her eyes closed, and waited as he responded, soft and delicate upon her lips.

"Good morning," she finally said.

"Good morning… Mrs. Carson."

"Hmm, I rather like the sound of that. Though it may take some getting used to."

"For us both, it makes me think of my mother."

She wasn't sure how to take the comparison; still, she pressed ahead, "I'm sorry I fell to sleep last night."

"Don't be, it was a tiresome day."

"Yes, and to think of them all up now, rushing and packing."

"Should we help?"

"No." she admonished, her face stern, "it's the first day of our honeymoon."

He coughed at that, suddenly aware of the implications of them sleeping in late and missing breakfast. What would the staff think?

"We should have breakfast though, at least."

She smiled knowingly, "Yes, we should. Tomorrow you'll only have me to rely on for it, and I'm certainly no Mrs. Patmore in the kitchen."

"We'll manage."

The thought of being in their own little cottage, their own kitchen, filled her with joy and, she had to admit, excitement.

He rolled over to his side of the bed, stretching as he got out and put on his robe. "Heaven knows what I'll find to do with the day."

"Do? We have an entire cottage to clean, tidy and make our own. There's going to be plenty for you to do."

He laughed, "Oh, so this is married life?"

"It would seem so."

* * *

The family had gone by eleven. The house seemed almost empty as they took their cases and the few boxes of belongings they had between them and loaded them into the car. It was only a short trip to their estate cottage, less than a five minute walk, but easier with transportation.

Alone now, in the hallway of their home, they stood in companionable silence and surveyed it. It had been empty for a while and was in need of love and care. But neither had been afraid of hard work and besides, there was something special about starting afresh there.

"Do you think we'll get used to it?" She asked as she removed her hat.

"The cottage?"

"The quiet. No bustle in the hallways, no knocking on our doors."

"We'll be back soon enough to that, I have to admit it will be rather nice to sit by the fire in the evening and know our nightcap won't be disturbed."

"Very nice," she turned and kissed him quickly, "shall we get to work?"

"Where do you want to start?"

"Kitchen? The floor needs scrubbing, I can do that, but I'd really like the fire cleaned out – properly, so I know we're set for the winter."

"Then that's where I'll start." He took off his coat, hard work would help him forget about Downton and servants who would probably be dragging their heels for the next fourteen days.

* * *

It was whilst watching her on hands and knees finishing off the kitchen floor, her hair falling loose from the exertion, that he took a moment to remind himself how lucky he was. For love to come at their time of life was one thing, for love to come to him – well, it seemed nigh on impossible.

"I love you," he said suddenly, surprised by his own boldness.

She sat back on her heels, looking back over her shoulder at him. "You tell me that now?"

He laughed at her incredulous expression, she was right, he could have said it last night, or whispered it at the altar. She knew. He didn't need to say it. Only… maybe he did, every now and then.

"Well, I love you too."

She returned to her scrubbing and he chuckled, "I'll make a start on the windows." He said, his nails still tarnished with soot. It didn't matter. It was a new world he'd ventured into and it welcomed him.

* * *

"We can't possibly get it done in one day," she said rubbing his shoulders as he sat in front of her. "But I think we've done well, the kitchen is clean and useable, we have a table to sit at, at least. And our bedroom, I think it's important we feel comfortable in there as we're sleeping here tonight… don't you?" She said uncertainly.

He covered her embarrassment, "the windows are clean in there, we can hang the drapes you made," he thought of her hard toil over the past two months, endless hours in her sitting room sewing curtains and bed linen. "…make the bed…"

"How's your back feeling?" She said quickly, her hands now tapping lightly on his shoulders.

"Much better, thank you." He drained the last of his tea and slapped his legs. "Best get back to work."

* * *

He stood behind her, ready, waiting, as she perched precariously on a chair hanging the curtains. When she wobbled his hands caught her hips holding her still, he forgot about the curtains then. Forgot about feeling nervous in their shared bedroom, standing only inches from their shared bed. The nerves were dissipating, desire creeping in their place.

It was only when she spoke that he realised he'd closed his eyes, enraptured with their feel of her body beneath his fingers, the warmth of her.

"Charles?" She said again.

"Sorry, I must have…"

"Do you think they look straight?" She asked again, weary and hungry.

"Yes." He said without thinking and she shook her head with slight annoyance. _Must try harder_, he told himself and stepped back to look properly. "Yes, definitely straight."

"Good," she shuffled on the chair, turning to get down. "It's turning dark, I wouldn't want anyone to walk by and see me in my particulars."

He wasn't sure whether to laugh or strip her naked. Lord above what had he become!

"Don't get down like that, I'll help." He held her hand, the other arm on hers supporting her as she stepped.

"We can do the nets tomorrow," she added, leaning on his shoulder as she climbed down, "I'm too tired now. I think we've done enough. My back feels tighter than a coiled spring."

"Mine too, shall we clean up and have some supper?"

"Good idea. I'm covered in dust. And you," she tapped his nose, "still have soot on your face."

He was rather caught off guard by the intimacy of the act, nevertheless he found he enjoyed it, her being so close, her care. He brushed the hair back that had fallen from her carefully constructed grips, "And you have a fine sheen of dust over your face."

Elsie wasn't sure what she'd expected from this side of their marriage. Of course she loved him; had for as long as she could recall, and to finally have that affection returned – when it had seemed so very implausible at times – had brought a fulfilment to her life she'd never dreamt of. They weren't retiring yet but when they did she knew they'd do so together. To a home and permanent companionship.

But beyond that, the physical side of a marriage… She wasn't adverse to the idea, in fact she longed for him to hold her, kiss her, touch her. It had been so very long since a man had, and then she'd been young and foolish, she didn't know love, not really, not until Charles. But he was often so detached, so removed from that side of things, she wondered if he wanted to even share a bed.

Yet they were, the room was made up and he hadn't objected. The spare room next door, once empty, was now crammed with the furniture that would soon fill their little home once they had it cleaned and painted.

Smiling she leant forward and kissed him delicately.

"I'm so glad Mrs. Patmore sent us a hamper," she said softly, "I'm not much of a cook at the best of times and I certainly wouldn't want you to starve on our first real night together."

"You can manage toast," he teased as he watched her tidy away her sewing box.

"That I can Mr. Carson, that I can. Nevertheless, I'm glad we'll still be eating at Downton, I wouldn't want to be a disappointing wife."

"That you never could be."

Her slip with his name didn't bother him, it was rather sweet really, he wondered if he'd be able to get past 'Mrs. Hughes' and call her Elsie without it irking him, or better still 'Mrs. Carson', the very thought of that made him smile.

* * *

She sat by the fire drying her hair, to Charles' relief there was no billowing of black smoke when he'd lit it and now she looked contented and relaxed. He watched as she brushed out her hair and began to braid it over her shoulder. As well as they'd known each other at Downton there were still things he would learn. Still moments of intimacy he had to get used to.

She'd done her best with the table. Candles and glasses set for the wine.

"So, what has Mrs Patmore put into the hamper?" She asked breaking his reverie.

He continued emptying it out, "Pate, salad, fruit," he smiled triumphantly holding up a white package, "cake."

"Your sweet tooth." She chuckled shaking her head, "Bread?"

"Oh yes, here it is."

"So toast it is." She twisted round to look at him.

"So it is, and pate."

"And wine?"

"Well, it is a celebration."

She joined him at the table, "Didn't we celebrate yesterday?" She set to slicing the bread as he poured the wine.

"That was for our wedding. This," he handed her a glass, "is to celebrate the first day of our marriage."

"Thank you," her voice was soft, "that was a lovely thing to say."

"Well," he glanced away.

She rested her hand on his arm, "You can be sentimental every now and then, just with me."

He nodded, "Shall we sit?"

"I was waiting for you to sit first." She teased.

"We can sit together, in fact…" he pulled out her chair, "after you."

"Such gentlemanly behaviour."

They ate in a much more tranquil atmosphere than they had the previous night. Talking over their plans for the cottage, how he'd shape the garden, how she'd furnish the parlour.

Too soon night had closed in; food had been eaten, wine drunk. Truth be told she felt a little tipsy as she yawned.

"Time you were in bed," he said soothingly.

She looked up sharply catching his eye.

"I didn't mean… oh…" She chuckled at his discomfort. "Don't tease me Mrs Hughes. Mrs Carson." He corrected.

"_That_ will definitely take some getting used to." She got up from her chair, her back protesting, "I suppose we should do the dishes but –,"

"Who will know if we don't?"

"Yes, well then, shall we?"

"Would you like me to give you time to, erm, to change?"

She shook her head, "Oh for goodness sake," she said as frustrated with herself as she was with him. "This is silly, we're married now. We need to relax."

He marvelled at her practicality, as always, in times of uncertainty.

"Is that a no then?" He held her gaze long enough before he smiled. "Would you like something to drink?"

She didn't care to admit the wine had already gone to head, in fact the alcohol was rather dulling the edges a little, "That would be nice. I'll go up."

Despite it being mid-summer the room was fairly cool, she was glad of that, she didn't really want to sleep with the window open.

She could hear Charles rinsing the dishes downstairs (she knew he couldn't leave them) and took the time to change into her nightgown quickly and get beneath the covers before he came up. She'd done the same last night and fallen right to sleep, tonight she intended to be awake when he came up. She lay back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, watching the shapes and shadows as the candlelight played across it.

He debated, it seemed for an eternity, over what to take up, sherry seemed too familiar, they'd had port yesterday. Realisation dawning on him he remembered the wonderful bottle of single malt his Lordship had given them as a wedding gift, of course, how fitting for his Scottish wife.

Opting for two glasses and the bottle (who knew how things would go!) he checked the doors, turned off the lights and headed up to bed.

Her eyes were closed when he got to the room, the faint light available shone on her pale face, by the open door he stood uncertainly watching her chest rise and fall. He wondered if she was asleep, torn between relief and disappointment at the thought.

"Elsie," he whispered as he moved toward the bed.

"Mmm?"

"Just checking." He put the glasses on the side table and opened the malt, "This should be wonderful," he said, almost to himself.

She glanced over to where he stood, "I will be asleep if I drink that." She smiled, turning in the bed. "Are you all right Charles?"

He took a sip of the liquor, "Feeling a little…"

"Nervous?"

"Apprehensive perhaps."

"Oh dear, I must be terrifying."

"Not at all, that's not what I meant."

"I'm teasing. Relax and get into bed."

He ought to change into his pyjamas, but then wouldn't that seem odd when they intended to… indecision always seemed a constant element of his character. She was always so at ease and together.

She watched as he hung his shirt and trousers, "they need washing tomorrow," she said noting the soot on the knees.

He acknowledged it and hung them away from his shirt, oddly he didn't feel in the slightest uncomfortable about walking around in front of her in his underwear. In fact he felt rather liberated. He took his pyjamas into the bathroom across the hall though and changed into them in there.

"It's rather mild tonight isn't it, should I open the window?" He asked when he returned, closing the bedroom door firmly behind him.

"No, if you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't."

He nodded and slid into the bed beside her, sitting up and downing the rest of his whisky. "You're sure you don't want any?"

"I'm fine."

He lay back, flat on his back, feeling like a school boy caught doing wrong.

"Charles," she whispered, "are you going to put out the light?"

"Oh, of course."

For several moments they lay in silence surrounded by darkness. Elsie on her side facing him. Charles on his back wondering how best to proceed. It wasn't that this was new to him; it was just that it had been a hell of a long time (a lifetime) and the last time he'd been with a woman he was young and impatient. He wanted this to count. For her to want him.

To love her as she deserved to be loved.

As always she took the lead, her hand snaking out across his chest. If he didn't want more that was fine, she was content to be held and sleep together. But as soon as she touched him, her fingers catching where his lay on his stomach, he turned his head, dipping down until he found her mouth with his.

Clumsy at first, she thought as they tried to find a comfortable position, their height difference evident, he had to shuffle down the bed; her arm got trapped between them as they moved together. But soon they were settled into an embrace, she revelled in the joy of having her body pressed against his, the way his hand was firm against the base of her spine holding her to him, the other playing with the end of her braid as they kissed.

When she opened her mouth he moaned and the sound did something to her insides, her stomach flipping at the sensation. _I want this, _she thought as his hand shifted, moving up her spine, gently she rolled onto her back and he was above her, tenderly kissing his way down her neck, whispering words she couldn't decipher.

She closed her eyes, let him touch where he wanted, his kisses were focussed at the base of her neck. It tickled, deliciously, she had no idea his eyes has focussed on that particular spot a hundred times over the years. Across her collarbone, the delicate, translucent skin there, the life beneath it.

Parting her legs she ran her hands over his back, then up and under his pyjama top until she touched his skin, so many feelings colliding at once she felt heady and intoxicated and it had nothing to do with the wine. When he moved between her thighs she found herself moaning and that seemed to spur him on.

Part of her forgot that this was the great butler Mr Carson as he lifted himself up and removed his top, his chest bare to her now. She'd never seen him so relaxed. She wondered if she ever would again.

If he was shocked by her not wearing underwear he didn't show it, too hungry for her body to be naked to him. It had been a risk, but she was wife now, she was free to finally explore this side of her – a chance that had never been open to her before – so she'd conveniently _forgotten_ it beneath her cotton nightgown. It was too oppressive in the summer heat anyhow.

She pushed herself up to him, her breasts irresistible as his hands wandered, claimed, worshipped. Her nightgown gathered between them and he was almost impatient as his fingers found the hem and pushed it higher up her body; she lifted herself up and allowed him to draw it over her head. It was quickly discarded.

Her name fell from his lips, repeatedly, reverently, and there was nothing more in the world he wanted than to be with her for eternity. Locked in her embrace. Safe and warm.

* * *

She cried that first time, as eager as she was for it to happen. It wasn't rushed, it wasn't earth shattering, it just was. The first time. And she cried as his head rested on her chest, exhausted and spent, both in shock at the contact after so very many years of making do with late night conversations and the occasional brushed hand.

Gulping in the musky air she shifted beneath him and he moved to the side – reluctantly – for fear he was hurting her, she turned with him though, their bodies aligned now. Damp with summer sweat and unwilling to part for a second. He brushed her hair, cradled her to him, her face pressed against his chest. A current of fear crawled over his skin as her tears danced upon him, had he hurt her, disappointed her, rushed her?

"Elsie…" he breathed, afraid of his own voice.

She snuffled, holding him tight suddenly, she didn't want him to think this was wrong.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. She pulled her head back, drew in a raw breath and pushed her palms into the mattress as she sat up, twisting away from him in the darkness and reaching for the shot of whisky he'd left on the bedside table for her. She downed it in one, feeling it burn into the pit of her stomach.

She drew her knees up, resting her chin on them as she rolled the glass between her thumb and forefinger. "I'm sorry," she said again. "Just," she breathed deeply again, "just overwhelmed. So many new feelings all at once, it rather overtook me."

"Did I… I'm sorry if I…"

"No Charles," she turned her head back, searching for his face in the dim light, "it was wonderful. Unexpectedly wonderful."

He smiled, the brightest smile that had ever graced his features. "Never unexpected. I always knew we'd be quite wonderful together."

"Did you? You shock me."

She shuffled round, keenly aware of her naked body, her breasts bare so close to his face, "Do you think I might have some more of this."

He lifted himself up, capturing her mouth in a sweetly deep kiss, "I've never been happier."

"Me neither."

He reached clumsily for the bottle, "I should have left the lamp on; should I relight the candle?"

"If you can."

"I think I put matches in the drawer."

He found them, lit the candle, refilled both of their glasses and they sat side-by-side, the blanket loosely pulled over their laps as they drank, pillows crushed behind them.

"So many firsts," she said lowly, "this must be one of those memories you speak of, the things that life is about."

He nodded silently at her reflection, how she remembered each and every thing about him. His love for her seemed endless, unceasing.

There was a piano playing a slow tune in his head.

"This is good," she handed him back her empty glass, leaning her chin against his shoulder as her body twisted against his.

"Do you ever want to go back? Do you miss it?"

"Scotland," she said kissing his shoulder, his arm, until he tilted her face and found her mouth again.

They lay back again, ceaseless soft kisses, feather-light, as their bodies curved around the other, her knee between his thighs, her graceful fingers dancing over his strong arms that held her so tight against him.

"Yes…" he mumbled between kisses, smiling as they bumped noses, "do you miss Scotland?"

"Maybe," she breathed slowly, languidly, tangling the fingers of her right hand into his hair, her other hand tracing invisible patterns across his upper arm, his shoulders, his neck and jawline. "I dream of it sometimes, the smell of it, the breeze, the sound of my father's voice as he called me in for breakfast."

"We should go back, I'd take you, I'd like to see your home."

"This is my home, I'm afraid my voice may still bear traces of it but inside – that girl is gone, I feel English now… a traitor probably. But I've lived my life here. I found you here."

"And I thank the Lord each and every day for that blessing. But we should still go, maybe when we retire."

"Mmm," she hummed against his skin, impossible dreams of a time when they'd no longer be called upon each and every day. "We can walk amongst the heather, the cold in our bones; sing into the wide open spaces."

He laughed, folding his fingers with hers; she lifted her face to his once more and instinctively they kissed now, as easy as breathing, as fluid and free as swimming in a river on a summer's day.

His hand found her thigh, brought her leg up and over his, easy smooth movements as they joined again. And this time she didn't cry, she moaned and gasped and rejoiced in the fact that they had this. After so much loneliness. So much isolation. They had this.

* * *

He felt like he couldn't stop kissing her, wanting her; twice already and he wasn't in the least tired – sleep could wait, he wanted to live this night with her. This delicate, worshipping night where everything had shrunk and centred in their room, in their bodies. All that mattered.

Her leg was still over his, her heel in the back of his calf, but she was twisted over, half on her back, and the night shadows crawled over her skin, sliding beneath the curve of her breasts where his searching fingers followed. He wanted to know every inch of her.

She wondered if it was considered improper for husband and wife to lie naked the whole night through, naked and full of abandonment. She thought of racy novels she'd sequestered over the years from naïve maids, and then secretly peeked at when alone in her room.

"What was your mother like?" She asked, turning her face to his on the pillow. Side-by-side again, the dying candle providing a low light, enough for what they needed.

"Strict," his face softened, "kind. Hard worker, different, to this – I mean this life we have now, she wouldn't recognise it. She wanted more for me."

"As did mine. Did she mind, when you went on the stage?"

He frowned; it was a time he'd rather not be reminded of, even now. "She accepted it, after a great many choice words. My father didn't say a thing."

She recognised the regret in his voice, painful still after all these years.

"I'm glad you did it," she said gently, "its part of you, made you who you are."

He smiled, stretching his arm out above them along the pillow. "What made you so bold?"

"Bold?" she chuckled.

"So wise, you know it all; you know the answer before I even think of the question."

She liked the sentiment, "I think it's called being a woman."

"I think it's called being Elsie."

"I like this side of you," she whispered, closing her eyes to kiss him again, "And I rather think I'm going to enjoy being married."

"Oddly enough so am I."

He leant over her and she watched as his mouth traced the outline of her breasts, cupping them as he took her nipple in his mouth, testing, pushing the boundaries. She trailed her hand over his neck, more than content to simply enjoy his adoration.

Slowly and easily he moved above her again, delicate, tender, they made love as each had often dreamt of it. As if there were nothing in the world but the two of them and this marital bed. Nothing but love.

"I love you," he whispered by her ear, curled up against her back, holding her tight against him. "I always will."

She smiled, already half asleep, "I always have." She squeezed his hands, content to sleep in his embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm really enjoying writing this, I hope you're enjoying it as much. Please leave me a review if you have! This chapter has my favourite line of the story, "I am entirely yours." :-)_

* * *

She was woken by the sunlight. Keen through the thin curtains, without a net it crept in early and sharply. Mumbling her annoyance she turned her back to it, finding herself pressed against his chest as she bumped into him. He murmured something, shifting beside her.

"Sorry," she whispered, her eyes still closed, unwilling to wake just yet.

He obviously felt the same; he threw his arm over her lifting the sheets up and around their faces to keep out the light.

Smiling she drifted back off, ignoring the early morning call as she'd wanted to for many, _many_ years.

When she next woke it was to his searching hands. Wandering and testing, feeling. His mouth kissing her forehead, down her cheek, across her bare shoulder. She hummed her response, not quite awake, not wanting his attentions to end.

"So beautiful," he breathed against her skin, his voice still laden with sleep.

She moved with his body, lying back, welcoming him, her legs curled around his. She gasped as he moved inside her, his throaty moan causing her heart to tighten.

"Oh goodness," she drew in a tight breath, fully awake now, "I thought people only did this at night, in the dark."

He kissed his way back up to her mouth, a slow steady rhythm now as their bodies moved back and forth. "Perhaps I'm more modern than you think."

"Certainly more daring," she inhaled, shuddering, "Charles…"

"Sweetheart…"

"Remember this next time I miscount the wine."

He stared down at her, stilling slightly, "Down tease now."

She quirked an eyebrow, "Tease?"

He groaned as her body moved around his, "Elsie."

This time they were almost frantic, full of passion and early-morning energy. She felt free now, she could enjoy it all, they were alone, no homes nearby and she could call his name and moan her appreciation without fear of being heard.

* * *

He hummed whilst in the bathroom shaving.

Sang in the bedroom as he dressed.

And she enjoyed it as she found her way around the kitchen, made tea, drew back curtains and let morning it. Opened windows for the air.

He found her by the sink when he came down, washing the soot from his trousers. He moved behind her, sliding his hands down her bare arms and into the water, his fingers lacing with hers, together they rubbed and folded the clothing in the warm water. His kisses light upon her neck, she tilted her head back, eyes closed, the sensations delicious.

"Do you think we'll get anything done today?" She asked, twisting her face round to his, glancing at him over her shoulder, they kissed again – unending it seemed now – slowly, leisurely.

"You'll scold me for being lazy," she teased, feeling his fingers tighten in the water over hers.

"Never, you're never lazy."

She smiled knowingly.

"Perhaps I should work outside today or we really will get nothing done."

"I certainly won't rinse these if you don't let me go."

He pouted, "Oh but I don't want to." He kissed her again. "You're intoxicating."

"I'm so very glad." She pulled her head back before he could kiss her again, "But let me finish this, the eggs will be done and the tea stewed."

Chuckling he finally relented and moved back from her, drying his hands before pouring the tea.

"Shall I do anything?"

"I'm useless but I can manage boiled eggs and toast," she watched him sit as she buttered the bread and cut it for him; "Besides I rather like the fact I get to do this, humour me."

"Happy to."

They sat across from each other eating, ignoring the fact the clock struck ten and they were only just having breakfast – neither had ever felt so reckless.

"You look incredibly pretty this morning," he said as he watched her sip her tea, elbows on the table, staring out of their kitchen window.

"I'm sure," she replied, turning back to look at him, "with little sleep and my untidy hair. Though, I have to say Mr Carson," she stood up, reaching over the table to pat his head, "yours doesn't look much better."

"Come here."

"An order?" She tilted her chin up in mock defiance.

"A request."

She moved around the table to him, stood firm and straight as she did at Downton, "Would his lordship like some more toast?"

He pulled her into his lap, leaning her back as she giggled like a girl, young and carefree. Her legs swinging forward as he did so. He pulled her back up to him, "I want you."

"We'll never get anything done."

"We'll get this done." He kissed her deeply, branding her as his.

"So amorous," she giggled again. "But I need to rest. Or rather clean, which will be a half rest."

"Surely I haven't exhausted you."

"It isn't like you to talk this way."

"You've done something to me," he squeezed her bottom as he spoke.

"I will do something to you. Now, please, if you can, I'd like my parlour done by this evening so we can sit in there after dinner and read. I must go into the village, there's a chicken in that hamper that I intend to stuff and roast and we need vegetables to go with it. And until my husband gets started on his garden I'll have to rely on the store."

"I feel a list of requests already beginning."

"If we finish it in the next few days we can have a week off, do something, go places. Before we return to Downton."

"I don't want to share you."

She placed her hands on his face, kissing his forehead, "I am entirely yours. Now, the parlour, please."

"Yes Mrs Hughes."

* * *

It was after three before she took her walk to the village, though her parlour was pristine, fragrant with freshness, glistening with old dreams finally coming to fruition. She left him in the garden, battling with hard earth that hadn't been turned for several years.

She'd buy cake, cream cake perhaps, and spoil him.

She'd buy flowers too, she thought, and have them in the kitchen, parlour and bedroom. Bright and fresh, life indoors.

The village was fairly empty, it was hot after all, and she carried out her tasks with the minimum of fuss. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, she'd never been that kind of woman, but she longed to get back to him, to their home and what they were creating there. Burgeoning married life.

Her hat felt heavy upon her head as she reached their front path, her shoes tight. The garden was freshly dug and sectioned out into neat rows; clearly he'd decided where each and every item would go. Only now, at 4:12 in the afternoon, Charles Carson was asleep in a chair by the front of the cottage. She chuckled when she saw him, stretched out, those long strong legs awkward in the small chair. She'd have to have a new one made for him, perhaps a birthday gift, so he could truly relax when out of sight of the abbey.

Taking her wares indoors she removed her shoes and stockings before taking out his hat and resting it over his head, tipped down over his forehead to keep the sun from his skin. She cleared away his tools and left him to rest.

She would make him dinner, perhaps not as fine as Beryl could manage but she'd been around the cook long enough to have at least picked up a few things. She could roast a chicken. She could peel and roast potatoes. Carrots. Beans. Make some sort of sauce. And then there was a cream sponge for dessert, not of her own making but he wouldn't mind, chilling in the fridge alongside the last bottle of wine from their wedding hamper.

It could be fine.

Once happy all was progressing as it should she set the table, used a cloth, candles, the fine china she'd been collecting for years. She'd wondered on more than one occasion why she bothered with it but now it seemed to have a place.

She'd never been a weak woman. She'd never relied on a man to get her what she wanted – despite the world around her telling her that was exactly what she was meant to do. She had goals outside of that life, from the age of nine she can remember dreaming of escape, leaving the farm, her family even, in pursuit of something better. It might not have seemed much, but it was better. There was no doubt in her mind, when she'd gone into service at just sixteen, that one day she'd be Housekeeper of somewhere fine. Respected. Perhaps even revered. Though she'd softened over the years, now she was often mistaken for a mother figure – until someone stepped out of line.

She thought of finding Ethel in the upstairs room, naked and flushed. Not all men were like Charles. And young girls would always be young girls; she'd been there herself, easy to go down a certain path, easy to be led in by lust. But whatever it was in her that kept her focussed Ethel hadn't possessed. She did now though. Perhaps motherhood gave that to her. It took all kinds of folk to make the world go round.

She was humming a tune about sweethearts when she went out to the garden to wake him, shaking his shoulder at first and then kneeling in front of him, her hand on his knee tapping it lightly.

"Charles," she whispered, looking up to his restful face. "Charles…"

He grunted and she smiled.

"Darling, you might want to wash your hands before dinner, perhaps change into something a little cleaner."

"What time is it?" He asked without yet opening his eyes, his hand resting atop of hers on his knee.

"Almost seven, the sun's setting, I don't want you to be bitten to death. Come in."

He finally looked at her, taking the hat from his head. "Help me up?"

"That bad?" She rose, holding out her hands for him.

"My back, gardening is not forgiving."

She pulled him to his feet, staggering back a little at his height and weight, "Perhaps a soak in the tub might help, later."

"Perhaps. Ohh…." He rolled his spine back, rubbing at it as he followed her indoors. "Something smells good, chicken."

"Mmm, I cooked." She shot back over her shoulder, triumphant.

* * *

"I wish we had music," she said as they finished off their dinner. "Perhaps you could sing."

His eyebrows rose and he reached for the wine to refill their glasses, "Perhaps not."

"Your face is red, be careful in the sunshine."

"I'll plant tomorrow; in fact I wanted to water the earth again before bed. We can have flowers beneath the window, then the vegetables on the left side of the house, avoiding the full sunshine but just enough… what? You're laughing at me."

"No, I'm just marvelling at how domesticated we've become in such a short space of time."

He leant back in his chair, his long legs stretched out beneath the table, brushing against hers. She thought of all the times he'd accidentally nudged her ankles with his feet as they'd sat at the head of that long breakfast table, awkward as he tried to tuck his legs away beneath his chair. At least here he could relax.

"That was a fine meal Mrs. – Elsie."

She bit her bottom lip, "I rather like Mrs Hughes. I've grown so used to it. Though I must say," she stood up, collecting their dishes, "Mrs. Carson may just grow on me."

"I do hope so."

"Especially when we're back and Thomas is doing it on purpose to see if I'll respond, always provoking."

"It'll soon settle down, they'll be used to it within a month. Leave those. Sit with me, let's talk."

"I want to clean up so we can sit and talk. Why don't you go take your bath, we can eat dessert later."

"There's dessert? I'm stuffed."

"You did have two lots of chicken, but there's quite enough left for sandwiches tomorrow, we could take a walk to the river and have a picnic. In the summer, when you're away, I usually treat myself to an hour or so by the river reading in the sunshine."

"Sounds divine." He groaned again as he stood, "I'll water that garden before my bath."

"If you're sure, don't over exert yourself though." She was drying her hands on a cloth as she came towards him, "I like having you around."

"I like being around," he kissed her quickly, smiling, content, "won't be long."

She'd rinsed the dishes and cleared the table before he returned, so she took the lamp upstairs to the bathroom and set about filling the tub – thankful this was one of the few cottages that had gone through the renovations of the past two years. She added a few drops of the oil she reserved for herself, for special occasions, and let it bubble away.

"Elsie?" He called as he undressed in the bathroom; downstairs was locked up, lights extinguished.

"In the bedroom, won't be a second."

He was naked and climbing into the tub when she appeared, half embarrassed, half amused. "Oh, I'm sorry." She turned her back to him then realised she was being silly. Gathering herself she turned back watching as he sank beneath the water.

"Oh, that's heavenly, what's the fragrance, lavender?"

"Yes, I keep it for myself but I thought you might appreciate it."

"Very kind of you."

She busied herself folding his clothes, snatching occasional glances at his face tilted back in sweet repose. "Would you like a book or something, perhaps some tea?"

"This is perfect, only maybe…"

"Yes?"

"My shoulders ache." He shrugged, casting her a sneaky look.

"Charles Carson, I'm your wife not your nursemaid."

He pouted – she couldn't believe it, he actually pouted. And somehow she found herself stood behind him, her hands massaging the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms. "You do feel tense."

"Not tense, physical labour, I'm not cut out for it. Give me a silver service any day of the week."

"The style and flair hmm," she kissed the top of his head. "I'm happy to see you so relaxed, I wondered…"

"If I'd go running back after only a day away? To be honest I wondered that myself. But now we're here I couldn't feel more – more at home."

She rested her chin on his head, "That makes me happy too."

He'd thought over his next statement all the while he was watering the garden and he still wasn't sure how she'd respond. They'd come so far so quickly, especially in terms of intimacy, life was throwing up all kinds of new and wonderful delights. But still. She'd been raised right and she had a moral core he was so very proud of.

He took the plunge. So to speak.

"Why don't you get in?"

"In where?" She asked, her brain already forming his answer, her hands stilling on his shoulders, blood immediately pumping furiously to her face.

"In here." He said lowly, anxious as to her response, he couldn't see her expression; he was reliant on her voice.

"I'm not sure that's considered entirely proper."

There was a hint of amusement to her tone; he knew he was on safe ground. She'd always been the more daring anyhow.

"Nobody will know but us two. And I won't tell a soul."

"Neither will I." She said quickly.

"Well then…"

Last night he told her she was bold – at this moment she wondered who that statement applied to more.

She felt rather apprehensive as she removed her blouse, her skirt, her shift and corset (damn thing – she would treat herself to one of those new brassieres soon) and she did all of it behind him, folding each item neatly and lying them on top of his on the chair in the corner.

"Where will I go?" She asked, hands on hips, staring at her rather large husband filling their tub.

He glanced back over his shoulder at her and she shivered, not used to such attentions, but his eyes shone with a mixture of love and desire.

"Right here," he sat himself up more in the tub, making room for her in front of him.

Taking a steadying breath she moved to get in, gripping the side of the tub, "Don't watch," she warned, "If I slip I'm blaming you."

He hid his smile; her warnings clear indications of her nerves, but he held her arm nevertheless as she climbed in, his other hand moving to her hip to guide her down in front of her. She slid a little, tipping against his chest; he kissed her hip, her stomach…

"Charles…"

"You're beautiful."

"I'm too old and flabby for this kind of thing."

"Never."

Finally in the water she turned her back on him, settling between his legs she sat forward until his insistent hands drew her body flush against his and this time he rested his chin on her head. His knees were bent to accommodate and her feet sticking over the end of tub but they were in. And soon the warmth of the water lulled her to relax.

"You're surprising me," she said sometime later, the room heady and warm with candlelight and lavender.

"In what way?" His voice was heady too, languid.

"In _many_ ways. This is just one at the top of a very long list."

He kissed her shoulder, her cheek, the back of her neck – repeatedly, adoringly – anywhere he could reach.

"Didn't you always suspect there was more to me, beneath the uniform– "

"And sharp words and regimented existence."

He nipped her shoulder with his teeth, "Isn't that why you didn't give up?"

She drew his arms around her, in front of her, folding their fingers together, watching the silky water slide over their entwined hands.

"Because I didn't know how to give up. Lord knows I tried at times. But you were like some damned splinter niggling away at my heart that just wouldn't cease."

"I hurt you…"

She swallowed, closed her eyes and rested her head back against him, feeling his lips on her head, her hair. She could admit it now, now that they were here. "Several times. Unintentionally and probably unknowingly most of the time. How were you to know I was so deeply in love with somebody so utterly uninterested?"

"Never uninterested. Never. Just blind. Just afraid. I have spent so many years of my life carving out what I think it should be, sticking religiously to that neat and tidy path that I almost missed the joy right there in front of me. It wasn't until…" he breathed deeply, recalling the moment, the sleepless nights, his own pain.

"Until we thought I had cancer."

"So many years wasted and it took that to jolt me to realise… Or rather to accept it. I'd known for years that my feelings for you were much more than respect for a job well done. More than friendship even. And the thought of not having you here, not being able to tell you how I felt or even try." He squeezed her, "I want a lifetime with you."

"We've had a lifetime, perhaps not always as it should have been but we've had it, I wouldn't change it. It's silly to regret when we have this now."

"Wonderful, wonderful this."

She smiled, sitting forward enough so she could twist her neck to look at him, her palm resting on his chest. "Yes, wonderful this, let's go to bed. That is if you can forgo the cream cake."

"Just this once perhaps."

She stood first, using his shoulders for support as she climbed out and then helped him. They shared a towel, kissing, stroking, adoring as they dried and tumbled to their bedroom, still in the darkness.

They made love slowly on top of the sheets, confident now in the other's trust. They took their time to please, finding what the other liked, discovering new ways to love and be loved.

He cradled her to him as the clock struck one, the sheets haphazardly pulled around their bodies, her back to his chest, she was half asleep, he was wide-awake. Delighted by this new and precious gift.

"Have you read Shakespeare?" He whispered by her ear.

"Mmm, some." She longed for sleep.

"I'm reminded of Juliet, she tells him her love is boundless, the more she gives the more she has to give. I'm not sure I fully understood that until now."

As she drifts into sleep she hears those words and can't help but marvel at how she's managed to take Carson the Butler and turn him into Charles the husband. Sentimental and all.


	3. Chapter 3

_The love affair continues... As always please leave me a review if you feel so inclined._

* * *

She awakes the next morning alone in the bed and it strikes her as odd that after only three days she has already grown entirely accustomed to waking to him by her side – spooned against her, wrapped around her.

She stretches, the novelty of a double bed – the luxury of it – her arms above her head, her feet digging into the firm mattress. The sun is on her face and she's happy. She wonders if she's ever really known it before. How it's taken for granted, to just be happy.

With no pressing matter drawing she slowly rises, draws back the curtains and opens the windows, summer air, and stands before it in just her robe feeling it tickle the bare skin beneath.

Downstairs Charles is sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper, bolt upright (the man never slouches) with that gentlemanly air he carries so well. She slides her hands over his arms and across his chest, resting on his shoulder and kissing his cheek.

"Good morning," he says surprised, twisting his head to kiss her arm.

"Good morning, you let me sleep in late. Very late."

"I hadn't the heart to wake you, you looked so at peace."

"Completely. What time did you get up?"

"Just after six." He admitted folding the paper.

"Charles," she admonished tapping his chest.

"Can't quite break the habit, besides that would be a late morning at Downton."

"True, but we need to take this time to rest and enjoy."

He reached to squeeze her hands, "Oh believe me, I am enjoying. Besides I got plenty done."

She noted his dirty boots propped by the open kitchen door, "Sowed your seeds have you famer Carson."

"I have, and quite pleased with myself with it too. Would you like some tea?"

"Of course."

"I'll make a fresh pot."

She reluctantly let go of him and slipped into the chair he vacated. "I'll inspect your handy work later."

"I forget sometimes, you'll be better at all this than me with your childhood."

"That was a long, _long _time ago."

"It would all come flooding back."

"I suppose so," she pulled a corner off the remains of the toast left on his plate and chomped on it.

"Would you like some?"

"No I'm fine, I want to make sandwiches anyhow and we haven't got much bread left."

"I can go into the village."

"I could bake." She smiled, tilting her head as she watched him warm the pot and add the leaves. "Let's take the day off and go to the river."

"It's going to be hot."

"It's shaded there, or I know a spot that is. We can read and picnic."

He poured the tea and sat down across from her, "Then that's what we'll do."

"Did you walk to the village this morning?"

"Yes, for the paper, it was early, hardly a soul about."

"You didn't take a turn by the house?" She asked, needling.

"No," he said slowly, holding her gaze, "I can keep away."

She raised her eyebrows, "Which I am quite surprised about. Are you missing London?"

"Not in the slightest, especially not when I'm walking home thinking of my beautiful, naked wife asleep in our bed."

"Charles!"

"You asked. Now, I'll just clean my boots then change."

"I should leave your gardening clothes on, you might get wet."

"I intended to read by the river, not crawl in it."

"Well," she shrugged, "you never know."

"With you one never knows," he finished his tea and got up. "You seem to draw me into the most remarkable little adventures.

"Do I indeed."

"Yes, indeed." He leant over and kissed her. "Good morning Mrs Carson."

"Good morning Mr Carson."

* * *

Charles swung the picnic basket in one hand; Elsie's arm was tucked around his other arm and he strode proudly through the village, now full of life. He nodded and tipped his hat at passing acquaintances. This was the first time they'd been out publically together since they'd wed and he felt glorious.

He almost tripped when she stopped suddenly though and pulled back on his arm before letting go of him to hug some woman he couldn't recall seeing before. He supposed he must have, at some point, but he wasn't entirely sure of her name or from where she came. He smiled politely and waited for Elsie to finish her conversation before she retook his arm and they set off again.

"That was Emma, remember, the flower shop, her husband runs it."

"Vaguely. I don't often have the need for flowers."

"Well now you do." She said confidently, a wide smile on her face as she said hello to another passing lady.

She looked different these days, brighter, he thought as he watched her. And her lips were shining as if she was wearing something, some kind of gloss, it looked nice, though he wasn't at all used to it and in his humble opinion it wasn't necessary. Still. She was happy.

"I'm rather enjoying this," she whispered next to him. "It makes quite a difference not to be seen as just The Housekeeper, the spinster."

"What a horrid way to refer to yourself."

"I was."

"You weren't. Spinsters are ancient, witch-like ladies that have cats and curse."

"Goodness Charles, I'm hardly a spring chicken."

"We're as old as we feel, which means at the moment I'm around twenty-four."

She chuckled as they headed past the side of the church, each remembering the vows they'd taken in hushed tones with shaking hands only a few days before.

"Hard to believe it's not even been a week." He said thoughtfully. "And already so much has changed."

"In what way?" She asked gently, her hand slipping from his arm to come down and hold his. "Despite the obvious."

He shook his head at her. "I was going to be serious."

"You can be… please…" she squeezed his fingers.

"My centre has shifted; I'm not ashamed to admit it was Downton, the family, now it's you. And will always be you."

"Thank you for that." She said sincerely.

He cast a glance at her as they reached the first stile. "You doubted?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, "I would say I _wondered_."

Placing the basket down on the other side of the fence he hauled himself over and then waited to help as she climbed.

"Damned skirts are an inconvenience," she said leaning heavily against him. "Lady Sybil was onto something."

"I would never wish to see a woman in trousers."

"You do surprise me, oh!" She gasped as she fell off the bottom step falling ungracefully against him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he gripped her hand again; "You'd better lead the way."

"Shall we take the longer route, have a real walk?"

"Why not."

The clock was just striking midday as she led him around the field and towards the widest part of the river. They walked for nearly half-an-hour before seeing anybody else and then there were children splashing in the water. Shrieking and laughing as they raced about.

"Do you remember doing that?" She asked smiling fondly at them.

"Not really."

"Charles, you can't have always been standing to attention waiting to serve."

"There's something entirely wrong about the way you say that."

She blushed, "I didn't mean _that_. I mean you must have had friends, had fun." She paused on the small bridge they were crossing, leaning against the rail to watch the children play.

"I'm interested in what you were like," he said standing behind her, his hands on her hips, the basket hanging around his arm. "Muddy and reckless."

"Yes," she said, "in gumboots with wild hair, we'd disappear for an entire day – morning til night – exploring."

"With your sister?"

"Yes, and children from other farms. Do you remember feeling like that?" She indicated the playing children. "So free, no cares, happiness relied on nothing more than sunshine and a free river."

"I was rather partial to candied apples."

She giggled, turning in his arms, "You do surprise me." She straightened the collar on his shirt, "What else did young Charlie Carson like? Were you Charlie then?"

"At times." He nudged her nose with his, "I liked thunderstorms, and music, and reading. I used to act out plays too, on my own of course."

"Really?"

"Yes, don't reveal that to anybody."

"Never."

"And cricket, I enjoyed playing cricket on the green with the other boys."

"Knobbly knees."

"I could run as fast as a greyhound."

She laughed, "I'm sure, who would have thought – way back then – that we would end up here together."

"Whatever fates intervened to bring Elsie Hughes to Yorkshire I shall ever be grateful to."

"Maybe fate wasn't involved; maybe it was just a stubborn, smart Scottish lass that got herself to Yorkshire."

He couldn't help but smile and kiss her soundly at that. It was rather amusing that for somebody like him, always behind the times and clinging by the fingernails to the past, that he would find such love and fulfilment with somebody dragging him into the future. A new world where women had as much say as men. She was certainly proof it could be done. He'd met no man wiser, more intelligent, more focussed or hardworking. Over the years he'd often thought her his equal, now he wondered if she were not just that little step ahead of him.

She tugged on his hand, "Enough daydreaming. I'm hungry. Let's go find my spot."

She led him through the woods, where the river thinned and trickled before opening out again. Past where a small gush fell over a tiny fall, jagged rocks that had smoothed with age, and to the side where it calmed and appeared to still. Moving as slow as each second on a lazy summer afternoon.

He spread out the blanket, his shoes on two of the corners to hold it down. She rejoiced in the fact he'd removed shoes and socks without no prodding from her, and enjoyed watching him flex his toes in the lush grass. She sat in the centre of the blanket, removing her own shoes and placing them on the other two corners.

"Are you quite sure we're alone?" She asked glancing up as he began to empty the basket.

He looked around, "It would seem so."

"Good," she pushed her skirt high up her legs towards her thighs.

"Elsie! What are you doing?" He asked astonished.

"Nothing," she reached up under her skirt unclipping her stockings. "Socks are much easier to dispose of," she said as she rolled them down her legs. "And a lady mustn't leave the house without them, even, it seems, when it's hot enough to fry eggs outdoors."

There were times he couldn't help but marvel at her fiery, no-nonsense nature.

She let her skirt fall back down, "Charles," she smiled at his glazed expression as he stood poised in front of her with brown paper packages in hand. "Are you going to sit down so we can eat those?"

He shook his head, finally sitting beside her on the blanket. She rolled her stockings and popped them inside her shoes.

"You continue to astonish."

"I should hope so, even after all these years, or life would become very dull indeed." She spread out the sandwiches, opened a tub of salad and another of fruit cake (her wedding cake) and he popped the top off a bottle of lemonade they'd purchased in the village on the way through.

Stretching their legs out they ate in companionable silence, watching the river ebb and flow and the play of the sunshine along it.

"You came here alone?" he asked some time later as they lay back on the ground, his jacket rolled up beneath his head, her head resting on his stomach, her body twisted diagonally from his.

"Quite often," she said, eyes closed, face tilted towards the filters of sun sneaking in through gaps in the trees.

"I'm quite jealous, finding this spot."

"It's rather lovely isn't it?"

"Very, but I'm not sure I approve of you being so far from home on your own."

"You make me out a child."

"Not that, just… I'd want to be sure you were safe."

"Mmm," she reached for her book. "I've survived all these years."

He squeezed her shoulder, "stubborn woman."

She read as he dozed, until the oppressive heat of the day shifted over leaving a pleasant warmth in its place. When her eyes were heavy she marked her page and put her book aside, rising from the cushion her husband provided and stretching her body. Her shoulders ached from the position and her legs felt sticky with the August heat.

"Charles," she whispered looking down at him.

"I'm awake."

"I'm going for a paddle. Are you coming?"

"Not just yet."

He couldn't resist opening his eyes though, shifting the blanket beneath the tree so he could lean against the trunk and watch her. Her skirt lifted to just below her knees she found the spot where the bank was low and tentatively dipped a toe in before she fully stepped into the water, over the muddy edge, taking her time to balance on the pebbles beneath. In the centre the ground was more level, sand-like, and she stood there, her back to him, enjoying the feel of the cool water tenderly lapping her skin.

"I used to fish for tadpoles in the river," he said. "Marvelling when my father explained how they'd turn to frogs."

She turned to face him at his words, "That's a sweet image."

"As is this one," he indicated her current position.

"Come join me, just for a minute or so. It feels good."

"I'm sure." He smirked but nevertheless he inched his trousers up past his ankles.

"To your knees at least Charles," she smiled watching him.

He did as she requested and climbed down the bank to join her.

"Your hair's coming loose," he said reaching forward to touch where the curls hung down from her tightly coiled bun. Dark, auburn, gold in the sunlight.

"It's sleeping on the grass. Let's paddle a little way."

He watched as she stepped away from him, delicately finding her way as she scanned the water for riches – childish tadpoles, pebbles that shone like diamonds.

"It's so clear here," she commented as he followed not too far behind.

He marvelled at the way she carried her skirt, how it accentuated her hips, the slender waist, how her breasts curved in that blouse as she leant forward to look into the water.

She jolted backwards when an unseen frog lurched up from a rock and onto the grass, toppling sideways, he reached for her arms. "Goodness," she laughed, "that made me jump. Did you catch frogs too?"

"I didn't like it when boys did." He admitted, holding her elbows as she continued to scan the floor.

"That's because you're a sweetheart."

"Am I?"

"You can be."

Again she left his hold, moving out in front of him, lifting her skirt higher as the water deepened. _Not too far_, he thought, _be careful_. "I'm so absolutely in love with you." Is what he said instead and she stopped and turned her body back to face him

"I'm beginning to realise that." She admitted, her face soft and flushed with the sunshine.

He thought how soft she looked these days, he couldn't think of a better way to describe it other than 'soft', each and every day they moved farther away from their roles and deeper into this wondrous new adventure.

He stopped, waiting for her to come back to him. "Not too much further Elsie," he said lowly.

"Spoilsport, where's your sense of adventure?"

"The currents getting stronger."

As he spoke the words she stumbled again, losing her footing, her balance, and tipping forward. In two strides he was behind her as she fell forward and against his chest. Laughing hysterically as he caught her waist and a fistful of her skirt.

"Don't do that," but then he saw her smiling face, her giggles as she tried to straighten up but simply kept slipping against him, wobbling, and he laughed too. "You're incorrigible."

"Hmm, I know. Kiss me Mr Carson, or do you need some encouragement for that?"

"Hardly."

He held her flush against him, his strong arms steadying her as they kissed deeply.

"I can't remember a time when we didn't have this," he said huskily. "I can't imagine not having it now."

"Don't go accosting me in the pantry though." She teased, nudging his chin with hers and lightly kissing the corner of his mouth.

His hands slid down to cup her bottom, holding her ever tighter against him as he kissed her again.

"Charles," she murmured.

"Mmm?" The word 'senseless' kept coming to mind as he found her tongue with his own.

"My skirt's getting wet."

He momentarily glanced down to where his grip had slipped before quickly snatching it back up. "Sorry."

But she was laughing again and moving away from him towards the bank.

"Where now?" He asked, bereft at the loss of her touch.

"Home, I rather think we want to be alone." She cast him a sly look, "Unless you want to stay here."

He'd never moved so fast.

The walk back was pleasantly painful. The more he thought of her damp skirt, the fact she'd stuffed her stockings in the basket and was now bare-legged, the feel of her body, that warm weight pressed against him. The slickness of her thighs last night in the bath. Things were getting rather uncomfortable.

"Can we skirt the village?" He asked.

She didn't reply but altered her route slightly; they'd stay in the woods longer, come out near the brook and jump over then take the back route towards Downton and their cottage. They didn't hold hands this time; he feared if he touched her he'd take her right there and then on the ground. He wondered when he'd become so unabashed. So full of yearning and desire, presently it seemed there was nothing more he hankered for than her.

She reached their door before him, took the key from her purse and let herself in. He followed seconds after and shut it behind him. She was slipping off her shoes. He did the same. Dropped the basket, removed his jacket. Then she was in front of him, her graceful fingers working on the buttons on his shirt. It was mid-afternoon and he'd never felt so aroused.

He too reached for her blouse, tugging it free from her skirt, working on the silky buttons until he could see enough of her cleavage and then he couldn't help but press his face against her, kissing and licking the sweetly-soft skin there. She smelt of the outdoors and it only heightened the sensations already tearing him in half.

Somehow she managed to push his shirt off, then reached for the fastenings of his trousers, he was groaning against her, pushing her back against the wall. He found her mouth and for a moment they were breathless, tasting, rough, smooth, soft as they nipped the others' lips.

She thought of shifting from his embrace, heading upstairs to their bed, closing the curtains (in the middle of the day!) But he was too close and she couldn't move, didn't want to. She found her hand trapped between them, inside of his trousers, the metal of his belt sharp against her wrist, the insistent burning hardness struggling against the confines of the material. She'd done this to him – the thought both excited and confused her.

Impatient, more so than she'd ever seen him, he shrugged his trousers off himself, tugged on her skirt until it was loose and pooling at her ankles. He was sliding open the laces on her corset, his fingers stumbling and pushing awkwardly at the fine material.

And somehow, somehow, the thing she'd seen and felt but never touched was in her hand and he was gasping. For a second she stood unsure. How did this work? Would she hurt him? Could she do this? Was it right and proper? The look on his face was of absolute pleasure so it must have been right. Oddly hard and smooth at the same time, so hot and firm in her hand and he was moaning her name in abandon as she moved her fingers.

_They were in their hallway in the middle of the day!_ She told herself. Questioning how on earth they'd reached this point.

"God Elsie," he fell back against the wall now, slipping down to the floor and pulling her with him. She let go of him, her palms hitting the wall with the sudden exertion of the move as she fell into his lap. His steady, sure hands guiding her, holding her hips. His mouth finding hers even at this moment of pleasant uncertainty.

"I love you," he mumbled kissing her chin, her neck. "I love you, I love you."

She gulped in air as he lifted her slightly, guiding her down onto him and then there was that sweetly-tinged moment of forever as their bodies joined. Foreheads touching as they settled a little, angled better, her knees bent, his hands wide on her hips as she rose above him. He couldn't even admit to himself that he'd dreamt of this, let alone believe it was reality.

Anyone could come to their door now (it wasn't locked), hear them, see them, gossip about them. The thought splintered away along with any other rational idea. All that mattered was the feel of her, the joy they created together.

Her climax caught her by surprise; so sudden, so quick, so intense. It had never happened like that before. Perhaps the different angle. The thought that it was her dictating the moves. She wasn't sure. She didn't care. When he called her name and hit his head back against the wall she slid her hands though his hair, rubbing where he'd caught it, but he didn't seem to care. He was smiling. Such a complete smile. Kissing whichever part of her skin his lips could reach in reverence.

"I love you too," she finally said against his lips. "Shall we go to bed now?"

"Well," he panted, swallowed, finding his breath again. "I certainly don't fancy doing any gardening."

The moments of intimacy are what make a marriage. Whether it's during illness where you nurse, witness them at their worst. Their most angry. Their most loving. The domestic chores. Or moments like this, overcoming the awkwardness of being half-dressed, still aroused, and messily unpeeling your body from the other, from the floor.

Clutching at her clothing Elsie went up first, undressed in the bathroom as he hid in his robe and made sure the curtains were closed before she joined him. Both naked now.

She crawled onto the bed beside him, leant over him, and they were kissing again.

"You've brought me such joy," he confessed, brushing out her hair, the soft silky warmth spreading over his fingers. "I've never known it."

She was leant against his broad chest; she could feel his heart beating beneath her hand. "Neither have I." She whispered. "I didn't know this kind of thing existed, that it could be so pleasurable." She smiled sheepishly up at his flushed face. "Or that I could share those thoughts with anybody, let alone a man."

"Let alone me." He smiled, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, there were times…" She smiled in return.

"Perhaps we didn't know." He suggested. "The friendship was there, deep respect, burgeoning love and certainly I was attracted to you. I didn't realise that we'd be like this though, that I would finally have somebody to share _everything _with." He tangled his fingertips into her hair, twisting it around his fingers, massaging her head, "I want to know everything about you."

"I think your ninety percent of the way there." She teased, "Certainly nobody has ever seen me naked, or heard me make those kinds of noises."

"Is it wrong I'm proud of that fact?"

"I hope not, because I'm rather hoping the sentiment is returned."

"Absolutely. Although I think you're past ninety, you know me better than I know myself."

Already their bodies were teasing again, her knee between his legs rubbing at him, his hands tracing the outline of her body, tickling along her sides until she squirmed against him.

She lifted herself up and on top of him, lying full length, body to body. Her mouth nipping at his, her fingers stroking his face, fingertips sliding across his lips, into the warmth of his mouth until he sucked on her ring finger and she giggled in delight.

"I can't stop wanting to love you," she admitted, eyes half-closed, heavy and heady with lust.

"I hope you always feel like that."

She parted her legs and somehow they managed to find the right angle, always learning and testing. It was slow and steady this time, the frantic actions of downstairs replaced with the languid relaxation of a couple who have all the time they need to find their way. She kept her eyes open, her gaze locked on his as they moved together. Her breasts pushed tight against his chest, rubbing as they moved, slowly, slowly, until the pressure built and he shifted them slightly to take control and push her steadily over-the-edge until she was moaning her pleasure and sighing in the aftermath.

They slept like that, her body on top of his, on top of the sheets. Late afternoon easing into early evening. Half sleeps. Almost drunken kisses as they turned and settled then repeated the movement again an hour later.

"Are you hungry?" She whispered by his chin into the dark, wrapped around his body, his arms tight over her.

"A little. I can make something though." He said against her hair, kissing her head.

"Can you?"

He sensed the smile in her voice.

"I'm not completely useless."

"In no way useless." She forced herself to move, to lift her body up from his, groaning as she did so. "It's grown so warm, sticky."

"I'll open a window." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Then I'll go get some food." He chuckled as he opened the window, breathing in the honey-like fragrance of summer. "I'll make you one of my favourite things when I was boy."

"Should I come and help?"

"No, it won't take me long."

He brought up thickly cut ham, he'd covered it in mustard and he must have warmed it in the oven forming a crust to the top. Bread and butter and a bottle of cider accompanied it and they sat on the bed eating.

"This was your favourite thing as a boy?"

He nodded, "And Granny's Sunday pie. So good I can almost taste it."

"This is rather good."

"Too good, I'd stuff myself silly when we had it then regret it later."

She sighed suddenly, "Oh those cakes are still downstairs, they'll be ruined."

"I may have perhaps eaten mine this morning."

"For breakfast?" She laughed.

"Let's call it a mid-morning snack."

"Oh of course," she cleared away their plates to the tray he'd brought up. "You'd never make it to lunch without your mid-morning coffee and biscuits."

"And catching a glimpse of the lovely woman who brings them for me."

"I wonder who that might be," she climbed from the bed, leaving the tray on the vanity they'd inherited (as yet empty of the things a vanity unit usually possessed) and heading to the bathroom to wash her face.

When she came back to bed Charles was reading, that focussed frown she'd come to love so much over the years settled on his face. For a moment she considered putting on her nightdress but then dismissed the idea, it was summer, it was hot and they were newlyweds. Old newlyweds perhaps but still... She climbed in next to him, marvelling at the way he automatically lifted his arm so she could come to rest against him.

She closed her eyes, buried her face against his chest, and, without prompting, he started to read to her.

_A thing of beauty is a joy forever:_

_Its loveliness increases; it will never_

_Pass into nothingness; but still will keep_

_A bower quiet for us, and a sleep_

_Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.*_

*Keats, "Endymion"


	4. Chapter 4

_A slight change of pace but it had to happen didn't it!_

* * *

When he dwells on it now, the previous days' events, it seems inevitable that at some point they'd hit a wall… or trip over one. And, again when he thinks on it, it was always bound to be he that caused proverbial wall. She was, ninety-five per cent of the time, the most easy-going person you could ever hope to meet. He, well, he wasn't.

It had started relatively well. He'd been up early again, old habits and all that, and had gone out and done a few jobs leaving Elsie sleeping. He'd come home to the delicious, welcoming fragrance of home baking – and there was bread cooling on the table and scones just being taken from the oven as he came in.

"Morning," he said watching her fuss with the oven.

"Morning…" then she glanced over his head to where the clock stood, "it's almost lunch."

"My walk must have taken longer than I thought."

"I didn't know where you were."

"I didn't realise I'd be so long."

Most husbands would have taken the warning shot and appeased their wives now. Charles, missing the subtle signs of annoyance, didn't. Instead he sat down, reached for one of the cherry scones she'd just set down to cool, opened out the steaming well of goodness and proceeded to butter it, whilst asking, "Any tea?"

To her good grace she'd bit her lip and made a pot of tea before sitting down across from him.

"So, you're not having lunch then?"

He looked up astonished, "Just a snack, couldn't resist."

She bit her lip again, nodded her head and narrowed her eyes as he returned his gaze to his paper.

"I suppose I'm making it."

"What are we having?" He never even looked up.

"Salad." She said, perhaps a little too keenly.

He grimaced, then thought better of it and continued munching on the sweet goodness in his hand.

"And do I get to know where you've been since 6:30 this morning, or needn't I ask."

He glanced up now, "Why, what do you mean?"

"Well either you have that 'glow' because you've found yourself a younger woman or you visited Downton."

"Don't be absurd, younger woman…" he chuckled, turning the page on his paper.

She drummed her fingers on the table top, "So…?"

"So?" He looked up again, "Oh, everything's fine there."

"I never doubted it wouldn't be. That wasn't my point"

"I bought the mail too; it's in my jacket pocket and Mrs Patmore sent some chicken casserole."

"Did she indeed. Did you look like you were starving?"

He let the question go unanswered and finished his scone.

She sat back, stretching out her legs, trying to rein in her annoyance, "Why did you go?" She asked as casually as she could.

"I was just passing, at a loose end, thought I might as well."

"Because we've only been married five days, you know that don't you."

"Why would I forget?"

She shrugged, "Priorities."

He leant back in his chair, looking at her properly for the first time since he'd come in, "Have I annoyed you?"

"Have you?"

"It seems I have yes, somehow, what did I do?"

"If you don't know…"

"Don't play that game Elsie, we're not children. Tell me."

"Forget it."

She stood up, removing her apron and getting herself a glass of water, it was unbearably hot in the kitchen today what with the summer heat and now the ovens and she wasn't at all used to the baking. She didn't tell Charles her first two rounds of scones had burnt and the birds had enjoyed a feast in their yard.

He opened his paper again and began to read, tutting at some of the stories he saw there. "Daisy, would you believe, was only doing the books at the servants' table."

"Which books?"

"The accounts, 'helping out' she said."

"And what's wrong with that?" She stood leaning against the sink watching him.

"It's not her place," he assured her, in that patronising tone she'd encountered on many occasions.

"Whose place is it? If she can help, why can't we let her? She's worked hard enough to get to this point."

"But she shouldn't have done that neither."

"And why is that?"

He folded his paper, "Because… it's ridiculous, why can't she be happy, settled?"

"Maybe some people don't want to settle."

"What does that mean?"

She shrugged again, "Nothing, but your refusal to acknowledge her hard work and capability is what's ridiculous."

"You would say that, you're a woman."

He knew the second the words left his mouth he was in for it. He expected a tongue lashing, severe criticism, the sharp end of her Scottish vocabulary.

What he got was worse still. Silence. An entire day of it. And no lunch.

* * *

And now, thinking on it, he should have read the signs and stopped it before it got to that point. She was clearly agitated and he had steamrolled in. But it was too late after the fact to shine a light on those particular things.

Still, he couldn't help it. He'd spent most of the night awake, lying beside her as he had before, only this night no cuddles, no kissing and certainly no marital bliss.

He folded his hands on top of the bedsheets, on top of his stomach, and tried to ignore the sweet warmth beside him. The fragrance he'd grown so intoxicated by for the past few nights.

After the 'words', as he was now referring to them, she'd gone to hang out washing and then disappeared into the parlour. He'd left her alone for almost two hours, pretending to find things to do in the house to distract him from the coil of bad temper that seemed to have originated in the kitchen and was now curling its way around their home.

Starving and frustrated he'd put the casserole in the oven (in retrospect perhaps not the wisest move) and then he'd made a pot of tea and taken it into the parlour.

She was sitting in the rocking chair when he went in, sewing he thought but he couldn't really tell. She never even looked up. He placed the tea on the table by the chair, fumbled with the words in his mouth wanting to come out but in the end saying nothing.

He left. Cooked the casserole and ate alone at the kitchen table.

* * *

Elsie turned in her sleep, mumbling something as she flopped over on to her back, her arm hitting him as she turned.

If he just touched her now perhaps she'd snuggle against him and all would be forgotten. Perhaps if he just turned and slid his arm over her stomach, his hand could slide up to the delicious ties on her night robe that kept her breasts covered. And he'd kiss her neck, her shoulder blade, the pink bloom of her breasts.

She mumbled something again and turned her back to him once more. Clearly her night's sleep was going as smoothly as his.

* * *

As the day wore on he forgot about the atmosphere in the house and moved outdoors, fiddling with his planting, tidying the hedgerow that surrounded the garden, picking berries that had grown so ripe they mostly burst in his fingertips staining them inky purple. He recalled his mother making jam and picking berries with her, coming home with a sticky stained mouth and a swollen tummy.

He was busy doing this as Elsie came outdoors, her hat on. She must have stopped on the path to watch him a while because he turned suddenly feeling her stare on his back. He stood up, meaning to speak but his voice got lost and she walked down the path, through the gate and off out of sight.

The sun was setting by the time she returned and he'd been pacing the garden, the kitchen, up and down the hallway waiting for the sound of the door. Then she was there, removing her hat as he lurked sheepishly by the parlour entrance. She went directly upstairs, he heard the filling of the bath tub and noted how she'd shut the door this time, no chance of reconciliation in there.

He sat downstairs eating the now cold scones and drinking a glass of beer, he wished they were sat outside in their garden watching the golden glow paint the sky. Holding hands, talking freely, drinking beer together.

He'd wondered about where to sleep. Would she even welcome him into her (their) bed? He didn't want to make things even more awkward than they already were. When he did venture up to change, deciding he'd take the rebuke on the chin and sleep in the spare room if it came to it, despite it still being dusty and full of furniture, she was sat up reading in bed.

So he decided to do the same. He changed, fetched a sherry and slipped into bed beside her reading until his eyes were heavy and his head lolling to one side.

He must have fallen to sleep because the next thing he knew was waking with a full bladder and dashing to the bathroom. It was black as black in the bedroom and he tripped on her slippers by the door. It didn't occur to him until he climbed back into bed that she must have taken his book and removed his robe and settled his pillows for him. The thought gave him hope.

He stared at her back again, it was ridiculous, he wasn't even sure what they'd fallen out over. And if he didn't know how was he meant to fix it? They never behaved like this at Downton; she'd never behaved like this – freezing him out. Usually they had cross words and then carried on.

No. Usually he said cross words and she patiently bore it and allowed it to move on.

How many times had he barked at her when in a foul mood and then found she was still there, pouring him tea after dinner and adding just the right amount of milk, just the way he liked it.

He turned onto his side and stared at where her hair curled at the base of her neck, he'd wished she'd wear it loose more purely for the fact he could bury his fingers in the sublime texture.

Night was ticking on; he could hear early morning birds twittering away in the tree that stood proud not far from their bedroom window. That milky light that dawn brings was sliding around the room and he could make out more of her now; the outline of her shoulder, where the sheets dipped at her waist, how soft her face looked on the pillow's surface.

Reaching forward he took a chance, delicately manoeuvring his fingers down her arm, from shoulder to elbow, and then he leant forward and slid his hand over her body, resting tentatively on her stomach. He lay like that for several minutes, breathing deep and heavy, uncertain.

"Do you want to talk?" She suddenly said and it cut through his sleepy reprieve causing his fingers to tighten and curl, bunching the bed sheet on her stomach.

"Yes," was all he managed to say.

She waited, silently, and it wasn't until then that he realised she meant for him to start.

"I'm not sure what caused it. I have an idea; you didn't like me going to Downton–,"

"It wasn't that." She said sharply, then turned onto her back, leaving his arm lying over her like a useless dead weight.

"Then what? What I said about Daisy, I didn't mean to sound harsh it's just the way I see things."

She sighed and closed her eyes against his words.

He screwed his face up at her reaction; he was getting this all wrong.

"I'm sorry." He simply said.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, "Finally."

He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

"You only had to say sorry. At any point during the day if you'd just said sorry to me."

"I didn't realise I'd been so rude."

"You insulted women Charles, and a girl I'm very fond of."

"I am too."

"Then try not to be so damned judgemental. The hell with old ideals and beliefs, we're moving forward, fast, and you _have to try_… I'm not saying change, I love you for who you are, but just _try_ sometimes to see things through another's eyes, through mine. Your comments hurt me."

"I'd never mean to do that, never."

She sighed again, "I know. And I know I was in a bad mood anyway and you going to Downton… it just seemed you went the first opportunity you could. I know that place is in your bones but… I can't explain, it just stung a little. Then the casserole comment."

"I wasn't trying to upset you or make a point." He blew out the breath he'd been holding. "Marriage is hard work. I simply don't understand women."

She smiled at that, "I doubt many men do. Sometimes you just have to let us have our little moment and try not to aggravate it even further."

"You won't leave will you?"

"To go where?"

He shrugged, "Back to Downton. Because I'd go first, I wouldn't want you returning to that little room, you can have the cottage…"

She interrupted him, "You think we're ending this? That I'm going to leave you?"

"I hurt you, I handled it poorly."

"For goodness sake Charles we're married, we're going to argue a hell of a lot more than this, and over worse things, I'm quite sure there will be days we'll shout at each other and the whole world will be able to listen in. But that's what couples do, unless they are very, very boring and have no spark."

"Nobody could accuse you of not having spark."

"Good," she placed her hand on his cheek, "Dear man, we'll argue and make up, that's what happens. There will be days I'll irritate you no end."

"But no doubt there will be more days where I irritate you to no end."

"But we'll make up. One or both of us will apologise and move on. Let's try not to make it last an entire day next time."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. And I'm sorry, because I was short with you, I was annoyed to wake up alone and to know you'd gone there but it's unreasonable of me to expect it to quickly change. I just wanted at least a week alone with you before we have to think about returning to our roles again."

"It's not unreasonable, not now that I know."

She smiled, breathed deeply and closed her eyes.

"Elsie," he whispered.

"Mmm?"

"Can I touch you?"

She smiled again at his question, charmingly uncertain Charles. "I do hope you can," she teased and heard him smile in return.

His hand, more certain now, moved up her body, over her ribcage, pushing the sheets down, lingering over her breasts until his fingertips tickled beneath her chin and he turned her face to his kissing her hesitantly.

"I love you," he said, leaning over her, watching her reaction.

"I love you too," she replied, moving her hands up and over his shoulders and bringing him down for another kiss.

He groaned into her mouth as her hand moved deftly and confidently to his pyjama bottoms, "I've really, really missed you." He breathed.

She giggled in return, "It's not even been a day."

"I want you all the time," he murmured against her lips. "I can't stop."

"Good, I don't want you to." She freed him from his restrictive clothing and pulled his body until he took her cue and moved on top of her, delighting in the feel of her warm thighs, so familiar now, holding him against her.

"I want to feel you," he mumbled, still kissing her, his hands trying to open her night dress.

His desperation for her amused her no end, it had taken such a relatively short amount of time for them to reach this point of complete comfort and ease, not that she'd ever doubted it, they worked so well together over the years – completely in sync – she knew they'd be the same here, if they ever got the chance.

She gasped when his wandering hand moved between her legs, he hadn't done that before and she was surprised by his boldness, she really must have scared him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered by his ear, both her hands clutching his shoulders, guilt rushing through her at the way she'd been all day, freezing him out.

"No, I'm sorry, so, so sorry."

She smiled again at his devotion to her, her heart swelling at the realisation of it. She pushed him back slightly; enough to lift herself up and slide her night dress over her head and throw it to the floor. She lay back and his mouth immediately moved over her, licking down her neck, to her breasts, massaging and kissing until she was moaning in sweet agony.

She needed him as much as he did her.

Hooking her leg around him she pressed him closer to her and he moved back to kiss her mouth, their tongues imitating what their bodies longed to do.

It was growing lighter in the room, milky into golden, and in the distance the sound of summer thunder over the fields.

For a moment she wished she was young, to do this with him when she was at her most fit and healthy, firm and able to bear him children. The thought had passed through her mind years ago, longer than she cared to remember, of having his children and she'd dwelt on it for too long and almost drove herself to depression with the thought it wouldn't happen.

Now it didn't matter, once the chance had gone and he'd shown little sign of romantic interest in her there was scarce point dwelling on such things.

But oh to be young right now.

He rolled them over so she was on top of him, his hands down her spine to rest on her bottom, one sneaking between her legs. She gasped again as he surprised her with it, perhaps he could be daring and modern when he needed to be. She was practically writhing on top of him when they turned again, rolling onto their sides until they faced each other and he held her leg over him.

She nipped his bottom lip between her teeth then licked it to soothe the burn, pressing her abdomen into him making it clear exactly what she wanted. Enough waiting now. Enough foreplay.

He hardly needed much encouragement but he held her face delicately as their bodies joined, holding her gaze, the slight intake of breath at the sensation and then stillness as he stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones and she slid her arms under his to his back, holding where she could feel his shoulder blades.

Her body moved first, gently, easing him deeper inside and then back, softly, steadily, and he watched her face as she watched his. Love and longing. Familiarity. Friendship. Security. Again and again her hips rolled against him until he groaned loudly at the tight grip in his stomach and his right hand rested on her hip, the other coming under her body to lift her slightly higher, driving into her now until she was the one moaning and gasping in pleasure.

* * *

Really she should get up and go to the bathroom but she had no desire to move and besides she would have to wake Charles to do so. Instead she remained where she was, on her back, her legs curled around her husband as he slept half on top of her, his face buried against her breasts, his arms wrapped tight around her, possessive almost.

She kissed his head and closed her eyes, it was morning now and sleep would prove difficult but she had little desire to leave him alone in their bed.

Outside it had started to rain.

* * *

_Please leave me a review, I'm loving reading what you have to say, thank you for all the wonderful comments so far :-)_


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry for the delay, I was away at the weekend and I'm just catching up with things._

* * *

It was still raining when they woke. Or rather when Elsie woke. Alone in their bed for a second she had a slight sense of déjà vu, then she heard him clattering around in the kitchen.

She slipped out of bed, over to the bathroom, and then back to the warmth of the duvet. The rain was coming down heavily and it pounded the roof in an absorbing rhythm. She lay back, eyes closed, allowing it to lull her.

The creak of the bedroom door being pushed open roused her and she spoke without opening her eyes, "We have to do something about that squeak."

"We will."

"What's this?" She said, opening her eyes and noting the tray in his hands, a light smile already creeping onto her face as she sat up.

"Breakfast, you're married now, you deserve it."

She sat back, plumping the pillows behind her before he put it onto her lap. "Goodness breakfast in bed, I've served rather a few of these over the years, I never thought I'd be the recipient."

"Time's change."

"They do, where's yours?"

"I must eat downstairs." He said formally.

"Oh Charles don't, come eat with me, I don't want to be alone."

"I'm joking; I couldn't carry two trays at once."

She'd started tucking into her porridge by the time he returned upstairs, he'd even remembered a drizzle of honey of top of hers and the tea was good and strong.

"Dismal start to the day," he commented as he ate, his tray resting on his long legs.

"Oh I don't know, it's started out quite nicely thank you, better than yesterday when I woke."

"Don't mention yesterday, I'm none too fond of arguing with you."

She laughed, "You make good porridge Mr Carson."

"A man of many talents Mrs Hughes."

"That you are…"

"Are you being vulgar?"

"Never." She paused, sipping her tea. "What shall we do _after_ breakfast?"

He glanced over at her face, "Whatever are you insinuating?"

"Nothing. I just asked…"

"I know what you meant," he teased, "and you'll wear me out."

"Soon enough we'll be back at work and you'll have to go weeks 'without' as we leave the house early and come back too late and too exhausted for more than a sherry and a peck on the cheek."

"Don't upset me."

"Well then, don't act coy."

"Coy?" He grinned putting his tray on the floor. "You know if I have to go weeks _without_ I'll be in a bad mood and just about ready to ravish you."

She giggled, "Oh goodness, how very caveman of you." She watched as he moved her own tray over to the sideboard and deliberately sprawled back in the bed, stretching. "You don't need to ravish me now though do you because I have plans."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I plan to lie here for many hours and do nothing but enjoy being a lady of leisure."

"It is already 8:30 Mrs Hughes," he said sternly, hands on hips, stood by the bottom of the bed watching her.

"Come back to bed Mr Carson and remind me why I'm Mrs Carson."

He didn't take any more convincing.

* * *

He sat up in bed watching her at the dressing table, she brushed out her wavy dark hair and expertly pinned it into place. She moved quickly, deftly, a task she'd carried out many times over the years.

"You do that so well."

"Practice. I don't even think about it now."

She glanced in the mirror, past her own reflection to his, content as he leant back against the headboard. "Do you plan to get up?"

"I thought the plan was to avoid that and be lazy. Or have you moved on from that particular plan now you've had your way with me?"

"My way!" She laughed, mock scandalised at his suggestion. "I'm going to ignore your comment Charles and do something useful." She got up from the dressing table, hanging her robe and straightening the chair. He'd taken his book from the bedside table and began to read.

"I'll do this," he said, "as it's raining and there's nothing useful I can do."

"Nothing at all." She said gently leaning over to kiss his forehead, "But oil the squeaky door later."

"Yes," he nodded focussed on his book. "You look beautiful."

"Flatterer. Enjoy your book."

"I will."

* * *

"What's that delightful smell?" he asked coming into the kitchen over an hour later. He was still in his pyjamas, quite out of character as it was already past lunch.

"Lemon sponge," she proudly said bending to peer at the oven. "Do you think its burning?"

"How would I know?" He asked.

"How would I know?" She replied.

They both laughed at the absurdity of it, two middle-aged companions neither with a clue on the basics of life. She took the chance and removed it from the oven, placing it on the table and resting the back of her hand on top of it, testing, "I hope it's cooked inside."

"It smells good, when can we have some?"

"When it's cool, and I made lemon curd too." She said in a sing-song voice, almost dancing to the side where it stood cooling in the pan. "I feel quite the little lady today."

He chuckled, "I'm glad to see you in such a positive mood."

"I am, I feel rather good, I can't think why."

"Neither can I." He smirked, "And despite the rain too."

"Yes, despite that."

He stood by the window watching it fall, "I fear for my seeds…"

She hadn't the heart to tell him he'd planted at the wrong time of year and it was unlikely any would grow, she prayed they would, at least a few, just to keep his spirits up. Besides when they got back to Downton she doubted there'd be much time for plants and baking cakes. Best make the most of it. Their next break may well be Christmas, if they were lucky.

"What shall we do with our day?" He asked sitting at the table and pouring tea. "It doesn't really seem the weather for a walk."

"No, are you planning to get dressed at any point today?"

"Is that purely a rhetorical question…" He smiled, "I rather like the idea of being decadent and lazy."

"And sitting around in pyjamas is just that?"

"To me yes. It reminds me of being a child with a cold, you were lucky enough to stay home from school and lie around in your pyjamas watching your mother carry out household tasks."

"I never got to stay home from school," she pointed out, "the farm was always too busy. It was either work at school or work at home."

"You must have been clever though, at school I mean."

"I suppose so, in a way, I never found it particularly challenging, more a stepping stone to where I wanted to go next."

"Mmm..." he mused, "I'd like cream on my cake."

"Oh Charles. It's a good job we're not retiring yet, you'd be the size of a house before a month was out!"

"Would you still love me?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"Whether I'd grown bored of baking for you!"

He laughed again, the house was filled with joy today (and home baking) and he revelled in it. "Let's play a game."

"A game," she said incredulously, "as in a children's game?"

"No, I mean cards, something like that. Perfect for a rainy day."

"I don't know many card games."

"I'll teach you, it will be fun."

"As long as you tell me _all_ the rules and not the ones you think I need to know."

"I can see you're going to win."

"Shall we be really scandalous and bet?"

"What should we bet? All my worldly goods are yours now."

"I'll bet… Hmm… I'll bet my _attentions_."

He raised his eyebrows, "If I lose I get none but if I win I get _more_ of your attention?"

She flung her arms wide, "As much as I can give. But if I win, I get all of _your_ attention –," She pointed at him.

"You already have it."

She held her hand up, "Ahh, wait, and…"

"There's an _and_?"

"Of course. And… along with your attention I get the services of a high-class butler at my beck and call."

He sucked in a tight breath as if contemplating, "But I only get your attention?"

"What more could you possibly want?"

"A fair point."

"So…" she moved to him, resting her hands gently on his chest, "do we have a deal?"

He stared at her face, so relaxed and joyful, and held out his hand, "A deal." They shook on it.

* * *

By 2p.m he'd taught her the basics and, as expected, she was already five pegs ahead of him (pegs being the only thing in the house they could think to bet with) and he'd had two slices of cake and was contemplating cutting a third.

"It's your move."

"We should have played Chess."

"We don't have a board…" She lifted her foot under the table, deftly lifting the bottom of his pyjama trousers with her toes and tickling his skin.

"Don't distract."

"Don't procrastinate."

"Hmm," he chewed his lip before laying cards down. "There."

"Charles, goodness," she dropped her cards quickly, "Anyone would think you were debating world peace not a game of cards with your wife."

"There's a lot riding on this."

"Yes. Pride." She said bluntly, watching as he stared at the cards in his hand again. Frustrated she got up, shaking her head as he drew his cards into his chest. She stretched her arms above her head, moved to the window and rubbed her lower back as she gazed out at the garden. Rain soaked and fresh. It fell lightly now, in fact it might clear soon and they could take a walk.

She was surprised, when she turned back to face him, to find herself crying. It was unnerving, she usually only cried when things got really bad, when she was exhausted or had lost somebody. She cried over William. She cried over Lady Sybil. She didn't just cry.

"Elsie…" he said gently when he looked up at her. "What in heaven's name is wrong?"

She shook her head, "Nothing." And quickly wiped her face, "Nothing." She shrugged.

He put his cards down and moved to hold her, gathering her into his embrace, resting his chin on her head, "You don't just cry."

"I know," she wrapped her arms around him, "I'm happy."

"You're sure."

She chuckled through her tears, hiccupping as she kissed his chest, "I've never been happier."

He pulled back enough to see her face, to wipe her face with his thumbs, "Neither have I. I'm incredibly lucky."

"We are." She took a deep breath. "Better now. I don't know where that came from."

"Perhaps you were overcome at having made such a wonderful cake."

"Oh, get away with you… it was rather wonderful though wasn't it. And it didn't sink."

He kissed her forehead, rubbed her back.

"Are you going to take your move then, I think it's drying up and we could go for a walk, get some fresh air."

"I'll have to get dressed."

"That you will." She fiddled with the tie on his robe, "Just think I have this secret now, of Mr Carson sitting in the parlour playing card games in his pyjamas."

He raised an eyebrow, "You're already winning at cards, you have enough of a hold over me."

* * *

An hour later Elsie sat on her couch watching Charles finish up making dinner, a stew (one of the few things he felt comfortable enough putting together) and celebrating her success. A pocket-full of pegs. And a butler at her beck-and-call.

"Come along Mr Carson, I have places I have to be."

He grumbled and shook his head, "If I don't get the seasoning right."

She chuckled, "_If you don't get the seasoning right!"_ She teased, mocking his imperious tone. She stood up, carefully moving over to him, "If you don't hurry up we'll be eating at dawn."

"Don't fuss me," he waved his hand at her as she got closer, "you'll put me off."

"Will I indeed." She stood behind him watching as he attempted to chop herbs and drop them into the mixture, teasingly running her hand up his back and then sliding her arms around his middle until she was hugging him.

"You're a constant distraction."

She kissed his back, "Ask me to stop."

He grumbled again, stirring the pot and sliding on the lid, "I can't."

She smiled, resting her head against him. He was warm and smelt of cologne, musky and heady.

"I do have to put this in the oven though if it's going to be ready for when we return."

"Oh well then," she removed her arms from him, "we have to get priorities right." She laughed, giving him room to open the oven door. "Do you think it safe to leave it cooking whilst we go out?"

"My mother always left a stew in the oven during Sunday service."

"Yes. But this is _your_ cooking, not hers."

He shut the door, wiping his hands on a cloth and standing back to look at her, "If you weren't so high in my affections…"

"How high?"

"Don't wheedle." He threw the cloth onto the table, "Come and kiss me."

She held her hand up, "Ah, I believe the orders are mine to give now, not yours. I may allow you to kiss me later, if the dinner goes well."

"Don't be mean to me, I rely on you to remind me I'm human."

She bit her lip, "Kind words my good man, but I have a role to uphold don't I."

He took a step forward, "Elsie."

"Yes." She jutted her chin up, resisting the urge to smile.

He took another step closer, whispering, "Elsie."

This time she did smile, "Don't forget Charles I know how to pronounce a simple two letter word."

He raised his eyebrows at her dig, that was years ago, too many years ago. "Harsh."

She shook her head chuckling, "Well go on then, only a quick kiss mind, I am a very busy and important woman after all."

"A very enticing, wonderful woman."

She rested her hands on his shoulders allowing him to pull her close and kiss her, gently at first, then deeply, holding her ever closer.

"My, my," she whispered by his lips, "so butlers _do_ take liberties."

* * *

They walked the path from the cottage along to the house, standing at the edge of the park and looking back at the imposing building. The rain had ceased but a heavy dullness hung in the air, almost purple as the sun started to set.

She hugged her arm tighter through his, "See, it's still standing."

"As grand as ever."

"Miss it?"

He rubbed her hand that held his arm, "Not in the ways I thought I might. And I'll be back soon but somehow…" He trailed off.

She left him for a second then squeezed his arm, "Somehow?"

"Whatever I found in that house to fill the emptiness in me, I no longer need it and I don't think it's going to be as difficult as I once imagined - retiring I mean. I'm not saying it's simply 'a job' to me now, it's just that I have my family." He rubbed her hand again, at the place where her fingers curled around his arm. "Who could have foreseen that I'd find the place I've longed for in you?"

She felt her eyes prick with tears as she looked up at him, his face solemnly set on the house, she wondered if he even realised what he'd just confessed to her.

"Shall we walk on," he finally said, "before it gets dark?"

She nodded, feeling rather emotional as they headed past the house and through the gardens, empty with the family away in London. She slid her hand down his arm and held his hand, bringing it up to kiss the back of it as they walked.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"You wouldn't understand, but it doesn't matter."

"Showing affection in public Mrs Hughes."

"Don't worry, nobody's about to see us." She patted his arm, "We best walk quickly, I don't want my dinner ruined."

* * *

She made love to him that night. It was the first time she could claim she'd entirely taken the lead. And despite the fact her winnings were to have him fawn over her (which she had to admit he had since the moment they'd married) she felt rather expressive in her feelings for him and he certainly didn't object to her attentions.

She kept the room dark, just a candle flickering on the side table by the bed, and when he'd emerged from the bathroom across the hall she stacked the pillows up for him to lean against.

"Do you have plans?" He asked as he untied his robe, a light smile playing across his face.

She sat expectantly, her hands resting atop of the bed sheets as she sat forward waiting for him, "I might. I don't think you'll be needing those." She waved her hand at his pyjamas, shocked now by her own forthrightness - there was a time she would never have dared use his first name, now she was calling him naked to bed. She smiled, her cheeks reddening, "Sorry."

"Why?" He began to unbutton his pyjama shirt. "You're my wife; I rather enjoy this side of you..."

She tilted her head to one side, rubbing her knees and giggling, "Really? I would never have guessed."

He laughed, "And the fact it's just for me," he hung his top over the back of the chair, "makes it even more alluring."

"Well, there's certainly never been anyone else."

He lifted the sheets and crawled into bed beside her, kissing her bare shoulder as he did so.

"And never likely to be," she added softly.

She tilted her head back allowing him access to her neck, her throat, delicate, tantalising kisses. His strong hands were easing her back against the pillows as he made to move above her.

"Mmm..." she mumbled against his lips, her hands on his chest, "Don't."

"Why?" He asked crestfallen. "Why..." He was kissing her chest now, his hand sliding up her thigh.

She caught hold of his impatient fingers, "Charles." She insisted, moving herself forward, turning in the bed until she faced him.

His hands fell to her hips and he sat back against the plumped up pillows. She was leaning forward, against him, he thought of their rendezvous in the hall days ago and caught on to what she intended - to what she wanted. Sensing her shyness he pulled her body to his, urging her onto his knee. At first awkward and clumsy as she fell against his chest and their mouths met in a flustered mesh of want and need. And then she parted her legs, sitting in his lap, allowing his fingers to push up the bottom of her nightdress.

"I love you so much," he said reverently, tracing the delicate pale skin with his fingertips, "So very much."

She kissed him hard and full, pouring all of her emotions into the kiss, "Don't ever stop."

Time moved as slowly as their bodies. Her nightdress removed, their hands completing the task together. The candle melted and flickered. She found her body moving of its own accord, in rhythm with his, his hand splayed at the base of her spine holding her firm, her head thrown back as his mouth and tongue worshipped her breasts. She waited, taking it slowly, enjoying every tiny fragment of joy as it moved through her body - her aged body that she thought would never know how to love like this.

When he was groaning and impatient, his kisses frantic, she lifted herself up slightly, one hand resting against the headboard of the bed as she moved to position herself better. They were still clumsy at times, it would take years to know each other in their entirety, but eagerness and affection made up for it and soon she slid down on top of him, both groaning in bliss at the completeness.

Foreheads resting together she moved gently, delicate, unmeasured. Slowly increasing the pressure and speed, then slowing again to draw him back. Her fingernails were digging into his shoulders, his hands tight against her hips. She wondered if all couples felt like this, it couldn't be unique, but lord she questioned how on earth it could exist like this elsewhere. And each and every time they did this she found herself falling further, deeper in love, new depths of intimacies opening within her.

He was calling her name and she thought how wonderful it sounded to hear his voice like that, almost musical as she brought him this pleasure. His hands were on her back now, supporting her as they moved quicker, driving ever forward together. Her orgasm seemed to fill her completely, somewhere in the depths of her belly spreading out until every fibre shook, her arms and legs tingling with it, and it took several moments before she could stop herself shaking, her chin resting on his head as he held her, their eyes closed, his lips moving still upon her skin.

When she had she calmed a little she sat back, unwilling to separate their bodies quite yet.

"That was..." her voice cracked.

He kissed her mouth, his tongue finding hers; she didn't need to finish her sentence, he'd done it for her.

* * *

"I lost at cards today," he said after, her head on his chest, her body laid on top of his, almost wrapped around him as they reclined back against the pile of soft, welcoming pillows.

"I know," she mumbled sleepily, "but I enjoyed my stew."

He rubbed her back chuckling, "I'll cook every day if this is my reward."

"Mmm…"

He kissed her head, "I love you."

"I know that too." She yawned, "But that door still squeaks."

He smiled, wrapping the sheets around them, "I'll look at it tomorrow. Milady."

"Mind you do."

* * *

_Hope you're still enjoying... leave me a review if you feel so inclined! :-)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 7**

There were still things he was getting used to, despite the fact he'd known her for well over twenty years, getting closer to thirty than he'd like. It both surprised and delighted him to find that he could still discover new things about her. Her passion – that had been a surprise (a wonderful one), he'd never once doubted her fierce streak of independence and joy for life, but to find that intimately she held so much passion for him, well, that had brought an unexpected enchantment to his life.

There were other things too. Sometimes she got up as much as three times in the night to pee; it disturbed him every time, despite how quiet she tried to be. She preferred to sleep on the left side of the bed and often curled on her left side to sleep, facing the door, her back to him. He could have taken it as a rebuff but no, it was simply her preference and she didn't seem to mind in the slightest when he snuggled up behind her and held her against him. She liked to be quiet first thing in the morning, she prayed then, before breakfast. And she hated her corset; preferring to read in the parlour in the evening in her nightgown and robe, no underwear, and lie back against him on their couch as she did so. She claimed it made her feel 'free'. Having no such experience of such garments Charles accepted her claims without comment.

Of course he was quite sure there were things she was discovering about him. That he liked baths, especially before bed. He snored in the early hours of the morning as dawn approached. When he was reading he would suddenly laugh-out-loud at a particular line, even if he'd read the book before. That he had become obsessed with the curve her breast made when she lay on her back, how he let his fingers wander along the underside of it appreciating the warm weight and the smooth, silky curve it made.

He shouldn't think of such things on a Sunday.

It was the first morning he could remember where they hadn't woken and made love to greet the day. They'd slept in after a late night spent talking, and then fussed around trying to get ready for church. He'd cut himself shaving in his haste, the first time in many, many years, and she'd applied cream to the stinging line on his jaw.

Now he couldn't fix his tie, his head felt heavy and he wanted to go back to bed. How quickly his body had adapted to the 'easy life', he'd thought as he'd stared at himself in the mirror.

* * *

Coming downstairs Elsie carried her hat into the kitchen and set it down on the table, she stared at it for a moment; it was time, perhaps, that she had a new one. Or brightened it up. She thought of her wedding flowers in the vase in the parlour and went through, returning with a couple of flowers and pinning them to it. She wondered just when it was that she started to care what she was wearing and how her hair was pinned, when she worried about him noticing her. She was in the process of trying it on in front of the mirror when Charles blustered in.

"We're going to be late."

He was flustered, she found it amusing as she watched him struggle with his cuffs.

"No we aren't. We have time."

"One can't be late for the Sunday Service."

"Oh no," she moved to help him with his tie, "one most certainly can't."

"Are you mocking me?"

"I wouldn't dare. There, all done. You look terrifically handsome."

"I don't feel it," he took a deep breath; "I hate to be rushed."

"You shouldn't have slept in."

"_I_ shouldn't have slept in? What about you?"

"I was awake, just enjoying my cuddle; you were the one snoring against my breast."

He waved his hands at her, "Pure speculation."

"Was it indeed."

He watched as she pulled on her coat, standing back and smiling at her.

"That's your blouse."

"I should hope so."

"No, I mean, that's your wedding blouse."

"It is." She smiled coyly. "I told you I don't want to put it in a box and forget about it."

"I agree, especially when you look so lovely in it."

He moved to hold her, his hands on her hips, "This is our first trip to church as a married couple."

"Yes. After the wedding of course."

Smiling he bent to kiss her, "Almost a week of having you as my wife."

"And have you enjoyed it?" She whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"_Enjoyed_ doesn't come close."

She smiled warmly, "We should go, or we really will be late."

* * *

_**A week earlier**_

_It was incredibly warm for Yorkshire. Framed in the door leading to the backyard Charles shielded his eyes from the high afternoon sun, cradling a cup of tea in his other hand. The usual high-activity of the day had dwindled down, for today was different, for him more than most. And yet, standing there as he did, he felt unusually calm._

_In less than two hours he would be a married man. Soon he'd be heading to the village church awaiting the arrival of Elsie who he hadn't seen since the previous evening. Today, the focus hadn't been on serving, today the focus had been on them. There was a time that would have unnerved him but not now. He felt almost serene as he finished his tea and thanked God for the beauty of the day._

_Returning to the eerily quiet kitchen he sat down for a moment at the head of the table. The maids, he knew, were either already on their way to church or dressing upstairs. Anna and O'Brien remained to help the Ladies dress and would no doubt rush and prattle to get there on time. His Lordship had offered the car but Carson had insisted he walk to church, the fresh air would soothe any nerves._

_It was something he was unaccustomed to. Never one for romance or dalliances, he'd hardly been the dashing young man and somehow relationships had passed him by, despite a few lustful moments in his twenties when he'd forgotten himself entirely with a fellow performer. He remembered now the two of them rolling in the long summer grass of an evening, warm and sweet, her ripe with youth. It was a lifetime ago and had never amounted to anything lasting. She'd moved on. He'd stayed still._

_He once told Elsie life changed you, and it was a good thing, he truly believed that. Life had changed him in many ways, he'd never been cut out for a life in shows, and was thankful for the day he entered into service. Quickly realising it was something he was good at; he excelled and rose through the ranks. Downton had been his home for many a year and Elsie his companion; he trusted and respected her as housekeeper, the keeper of the keys he'd often thought as he'd sat in his office listening out for the jangle of the chain she wore at her hip. For years they'd sidled by together, offering support, someone to talk to, their friendship had grown, trust deepened until they were the others only true confidante. And then came war and something changed between them, the axle upon which the world turned seemed to shift ever-so-slightly and with it their relationship. Intimacy crept in to friendship, the odd touch became longer, lingering, more pronounced. Until he found his waking thoughts filled with her, deep longings he'd forgotten could even exist._

_"Mr Carson," Bates said softly beside the door, "shall we lock up?"_

_Charles glanced down the empty table, the faces he knew so well imprinted in his mind, they'd all be there now, filling the pews. Her chair empty beside him. He scraped the tiles with his chair legs as he pushed back from the table, rising to his full height, straightening his jacket._

_"Yes, Mr Bates, let's."_

* * *

The walk to the church was a familiar one. The village quiet in the Sunday morning lull of reflection. They were late; she ignored his stiffness as they approached the gate and heard the first hymn being sang. He hated making a scene.

She took his hand, "We'll stay at the back, nobody will notice, just start singing." She smiled as she led him up the path, awash with the brightness of the summer blooms. The church was always radiant.

As she'd predicted they crept in unnoticed and settled into a pew at the back, mouthing 'mornings' to those sat beside them. Though Charles was almost giddy when several moments later a young family came in late and he sang the last verse that little bit louder.

She was surprised by how emotional she felt being back there, staring up at the altar recalling her own nerves the previous week. How her hand had shook as she'd taken hold of her flowers and took the slow walk towards him; how calm he'd seemed in comparison. It was a surprise, usually she was the one stoic and tranquil, he was the worrier.

Glancing at his face as they sat she reached over and momentarily squeezed his hand, fleeting before anyone could notice, but enough, enough to say what she needed to in that moment.

An hour later they came out into glorious sunshine, they were one of the first to shake hands with Travis. Charles remained standing by the church watching as Elsie said hello to those she knew who were gathered along the path, and she knew most, she was bouncing a baby and he was smiling at how happy she looked, and how loathed she appeared to be to give the little lad back.

Putting on his hat he took a slow stroll down to where she stood, resting his hand lightly on her back as he stood behind her. Instinctively she leant back to him, and he wished the family a good morning and continued exchanging pleasantries with other villagers he knew. It was getting warm as it approached midday and he longed to take his shoes and jacket off, most of all he wanted to be alone with her again, how silly after all the times he'd been in that very position over the years and thought nothing of it.

As the congregation thinned he was glad to be heading home, they would take the main route direct through the village and once again he absorbed the pride that came with having her hold his arm.

"Are you all right?" He asked, concerned at her sudden silence.

"Very much so," she squeezed his arm, "Just thinking, it was nice to see everybody." They passed by the memorial he'd had a hand in organising and paused for a second, remembering. "Do you think anyone will remember us?" She asked quietly before looking up at him. "I suppose it doesn't matter really, does it?"

"No, I suppose not. As long as we make the most of being here now." He lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, "Which I finally am."

"Good." They set off again. "I noticed that nice Mrs Wigan smiling at you."

He screwed his face up, "She talks rather a little too much."

She smiled, that would probably be his final word on the subject and she knew better than to tease him on awkward matters.

As they headed away from the church she glanced back over her shoulder recalling how they'd stepped out onto that path and been covered in white petals. Things had happened so quickly, she'd almost forgotten the beauty of it all.

* * *

_**A week earlier**_

_He was glad of the company as they took the fairly short walk to the village. Taking the well-trodden path through the woods to the church. He was even gladder that Bates had no desire to talk. Content as they both were to simply walk side-by-side._

_He wondered how she was. Nervous? No, she was ever in control. Perhaps worrying over the sudden heat this week, ruining the flowers she'd managed to get, the church being too warm, the cake Mrs Patmore had made being a sloppy mess. Later it wouldn't matter. They'd be man and wife and that, after all, was the only thing that really did matter._

_He wondered how it would alter things. In the house, between them, would she want things to be different – despite the obvious? They'd spoken of a time when they might leave service, they had a small house of their own now and he could imagine spending their days fiddling with the garden. They were neither of them extravagant and had saved fairly well over the years. He wondered if she'd want it sooner, retirement. But then he had a few years on her, and they always seemed so perfectly in sync._

_"You aren't doing anything wrong," Bates' voice stirred his thoughts._

_"Mmm." A deep rumble came from his chest._

_"It isn't against the law to fall in love, even in service, and you've both proven your worth. His Lordship knows that."_

_"Hence the fact neither of us was dismissed when we admitted the changes in our relationship."_

_"You have his blessing. The cottage. The celebration later today. They're all happy for you."_

_"The odd thing is, I don't feel in the slightest nervous."_

_Bates smiled, "I think that's wonderful."_

_At the head of the church he turned, all sound ceasing in his ears as he watched her move toward him. A simple skirt and blouse bought new for the occasion, her hair looser than usual, a hint of make-up perhaps and the earrings he'd saved of his mother's shining so brilliantly in the sunlight._

_She smiled and he took her hand as they stepped toward Travis, hands clasped together._

_"Hello Mrs Hughes," he said gently, it might be the last time he'd call her that and the moment wasn't lost on her. Her smile broadened, eyes twinkling. "You look beautiful."_

_She smiled again, but her mouth was firmly shut, he suspected to keep in any emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. It was a private moment between them, their backs to the congregation, only the reverend saw and for that they were grateful. Having a wedding was, after all, as open as they were likely to get with their public displays of affection._

* * *

He'd kissed her whilst she was half-way through taking her coat off. Pressing her back against the wall in the hallway, her arms trapped by her sides by the material. She was breathless at it, caught by surprise by his sudden passion.

"What was that for?" She asked, licking her lips.

"I missed you."

"We've been together all day."

"I missed being alone with you."

"Oh I see," she turned to hang her coat and hat, "And am I to expect that at Downton every time I come into your pantry with a cup of tea?"

"Only if you bring biscuits."

She laughed, "When have I ever dared not? Are you going to help prepare lunch?"

"Oh I think I can be counted upon to peel a few potatoes."

"Good, I'll just change."

He put water on to boil for tea, found the beef prepared in the fridge and wondered how on earth she managed to get so many things done. She hadn't been downstairs that much longer than him that morning and yet every surface was spotless and most of their dinner prepared and ready to cook. He put the meat in the oven and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"Have you started?" She asked as she came down, opening the windows to let in the breeze.

He watched as she tied an apron around her waist, "Making tea first," he said, unable to resist sliding his hands over her hips and up around her waist.

"Don't start that, I'll never get done." She moved to the sink and began rinsing the vegetables, complaining but enjoying his attentions as he pressed against her, his hands wandering.

He kissed the back of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair, "Do you know how happy you've made me Mrs Hughes."

She smiled, both at his sentiment and the use of her 'name'.

"I think I have a slight idea, but it is rather nice to be told." She glanced out of the window, catching a brief glimpse of their reflection in the sunlit glass, "I won't mind if you keep telling me neither."

He kissed her neck again, down to her collarbone, "I apologise."

"For what?"

"For later, when we get busy and I forget to tell you."

"Am I being forewarned?"

He chuckled, "I suppose so."

She twisted her head to look at him, "Kettle's whistling," she nudged his nose with hers.

"Mmm, I'll make you some tea."

"Thank you." They kissed, slowly and tenderly.

* * *

_**A week earlier**_

_Later, when cake had been consumed and wine drunk on the lawn at the house, the staff had quietly returned to the house and he and Elsie had been called to the drawing room._

_"Congratulations to you both," Cora said shaking Carson's hand and uncharacteristically kissing Elsie's cheek._

_"Thank you milady," Elsie blushed, tucking her hair behind her ear._

_"I suppose you're exhausted." Cora gushed, exuberant in the moment._

_"I am, it's been rather a long day."_

_"…Overwhelming," Charles butted in and Elsie glanced at him, proud, joyful._

_Lord Grantham squeezed his arm, "We've been together a long time Carson, I don't believe I have ever seen you so uncharacteristically happy."_

_Charles straightened his back, his eyes widening momentarily, "Thank you milord."_

_"You will stay won't you, tonight, I've asked Anna to prepare the best guest room."_

_Charles was about to protest but Elsie quickly talked over him, "Thank you, yes, we're very grateful for that, as we are for so much."_

_"You'll find the cottage comfortable I hope," Cora asked sitting._

_"Oh yes, we just have a few decorations to add but we're both very pleased with it."_

_Charles folded his hands together, he was awkward talking about his feelings with just Elsie, never mind discussing his personal life with Lord and Lady Grantham._

_"Well then," he said, "we shall keep you no longer."_

_"No, I suppose they're having quite the party downstairs for you two tonight."_

_She remembered watching Daisy giggling and dancing in the servants' hall, Charles sitting at the head of the table unable to complain of the noise on his wedding day. She'd stood back for a while, observing the joyful chaos, the wine being consumed, the wonderful food Mrs Patmore had made. And the shining gold band on her hand symbolising so much more than simply becoming a wife. They were whole now, as they were always meant to be._

* * *

She stared at it, already she'd become accustomed to it on her finger, she hardly even noticed it now, a plain, gold band. From her position at the kitchen table she could see Charles asleep on the couch, his long legs dangling on the floor, his mouth open. It was what Sunday afternoons were made for.

Getting up she put away the lunch dishes that had been drying on the side, yawning as she did so. She shut the windows, the afternoon was drawing on and she didn't want flies buzzing around the kitchen all night.

Moving the newspaper from Charles' chest and folding it neatly (as he liked it) she bent and kissed his forehead. She'd take a bath, read her book, and leave him to rest.

It was whilst upstairs undressing and waiting for the tub to fill that she decided she couldn't leave him there, he couldn't sleep like that, slumped on the couch; his back would be agony tomorrow. Reluctantly she put on her robe and returned downstairs.

"Charles," she prompted, nudging his arm.

He murmured, rubbing his face in his hazy sleep.

"Charles," she shook him this time. "Sweetheart, let me take you to bed."

His eyes lazily opened, arms reaching for her, "You'll be more comfortable there." She added pulling him up.

"Must have dozed off," he slurred as he leant against her.

"Yes I know, it must have been the lunch."

"It's my lack of sleep at night."

She was laughing at that as they stumbled up the small staircase together, sometimes she forgot his height and how careful he had to be going through doorways in the cottage, he bumped his head as they went into the bedroom and cursed as he flopped back on the bed.

"Oh dear," she smothered her laughter, "come on, take your trousers off."

His eyes were already closed again.

"Charles, you're like a drunken old man." She pulled on his trousers, "Help me, or I'll leave you."

Stubbornly he sat again, unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to her, crawling back to the top of the bed to lay his aching head down on the pillows. She folded his clothes, moved to tuck the bed sheets over him.

"Now you can go to sleep."

He held his arms out for her, "Come here."

"I'm going to take a bath," she said even as he pulled her into his embrace. "Charles."

"Come and lie with me," he pushed at her robe. "You've nothing on under this."

"I was going to take a bath."

"Just lie here with me for a while."

She did as he asked and climbed in beside him, allowing him to push her robe aside and places sweet kisses across her chest before he lay his head down upon it. He was asleep within seconds and she lay there in the still silence of the summer afternoon stroking his hair and listening to him sleep. She wondered just when she'd grown so content with life. No yearning for anything beyond this.

She remembered three months ago, more than that now, in his pantry, it was May and raining outside. Her hair was wet from going into the yard to look for Thomas. She'd made their afternoon tea, their break before the dressing gong. He was shaking as she'd handed him his cup and held her gaze in a peculiar way.

_"Whatever's the matter?" She'd asked, genuinely concerned._

_"Mrs Hughes," he'd started, then stopped, putting his tea cup down on his desk and straightening himself as he'd looked at her. "The thing is over the past year we've really started to…"_

_She stared at him for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, "To…?"_

_"To… to develop our friendship." He settled on, and she had to admire him for trying. Stuffy Mr Carson never found discussing emotional issues easy; he usually left that kind of thing for her to handle with the staff. He had no choice when it was just the pair of them._

_"Yes, I really feel that we've grown… much closer." He nodded._

_She folded her hands, dug her nails into her palms. She knew where this was heading; there was an inkling of it four days ago when he'd started in much the same vein only to be interrupted by Isis getting loose in the kitchen. Anticipation flooded her and she felt her chest redden, flushed at the thought._

_"You see, it would appear to me that after such a long friendship, we know each other's quirks and idiosyncrasies, and I rather enjoy, what I mean is I do enjoy your companionship and after such a long time, all these 'dates' we've been going on, visiting the theatre together and what have you, well it would seem to me that the only right and proper thing to do is to go and get married. Don't you think?"_

_She smiled slightly, laughter tugging at her lips but she bit it back. "Is that your very-unromantic way of proposing to me?"_

_"Well I mean." He swallowed, coughed. "It is romantic, it's meant to be," he sighed, shoulders dropping, "I don't find it very easy to say."_

_"I know." She took a step closer to him, proud by how centred and calm she felt at this very moment._

_"But there is affection there…" he paused, licked his lips. "There is…"_

_His hands were still shaking when she stood directly in front of him, taking his large, trembling hands in her steady ones. "Do you love me Charles?" She asked firmly, confidently._

_He nodded first then breathed very gently, "Yes. I love you very much."_

_"And I love you. So my answer is yes."_

_He seemed to stumble on her response for a moment, staring into her sparkling eyes, taking in her slowly-emerging smile, the way her thumbs rubbed his hands, how his heart beat loud in his ears._

_"Yes?"_

_"Yes. Of course it's yes."_

_"Despite my clumsy proposal?"_

_She laughed now openly, "Both in spite and because of it."_

_She stepped closer to him still, her chest touching his, "Do you think maybe…" she glanced up at him, letting his hands drop. "…that we should?"_

_He caught onto her meaning, feeling his heart burst open at the thought. He'd wanted to kiss her for months now; years, and now they were here at the moment he'd waited so very long for. As if in a trance he moved his hands to her upper arms drawing her into an embrace, tilted his head down to meet hers, eyes closed, mouth hungrily moving forward._

_That first touch celebrated the promise that had lain between them for a lifetime. A simple, almost chaste kiss. Her mouth pressed back to his seeking more and he'd slid his arms around her back holding her tight against him. She responded in kind, her hands (trembling as well now) wandered over his jacket, around his back, holding him firm and whole against her._

She wasn't sure how long they'd stood there that day, it seemed forever and yet not long enough. When they finally parted the tea was cold and it had stopped raining. Mrs Patmore was prattling about a burnt pudding and Thomas was complaining the dressing gong was late. She walked on air all evening, she was engaged, at her age, she was finally engaged. And more than that, she was sure of his love, whenever they'd gotten close before something had always pulled him back, caused her to doubt the strength and depth of his feelings, now she knew and she revelled in that knowledge. It seemed to have doubled her courage somehow, whatever life threw at them now, whatever the house said about their union, it wouldn't matter, they'd weather it.

She glanced down at his sleeping face, utterly content as he lay cuddled against her. Her bath would be cold but she didn't want to move, she closed her eyes, perhaps he had the right idea – an afternoon nap was most definitely in order.

* * *

_Once again I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for all your lovely, supportive comments, please leave me a message if you have the time :-)_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Sorry for the delay in this chapter - the ideas are there, the time to write them is (unfortunately) not!**_

* * *

**Day 8**

She mumbled in her sleep, squinting at the early morning summer sunlight creeping over her face. She felt Charles' hand tighten over her stomach, his knee nudging the back of hers and she mumbled again – she didn't want to wake, not yet, nevertheless something insisted on drawing her from her sleep.

"Mmm… Charles –," she complained, rolling forward a little.

His body followed hers, pressing up against her back. Warm. Firm. She stretched one arm out over the pillow in front of her, her brain waking now, reason and thought coming to life. She thought of the day ahead, the Sunday spent dozing had left her mind fuzzy and she couldn't figure out what day it was or what their plans were. She thought of how odd it was that they finally had the gift of a double bed only to spend most nights wrapped together at one edge of it instead of enjoying the space and stretching out. She'd slept too long and now nothing seemed to want to function, and there was something pressing against her, and his fingers had started to wander.

She sighed, surprised by the sound of her own voice, the mellow timbre of it as it swam around them. He moaned something in response, pushing against her again and it was then that her brain came to life and realised exactly what it was pressing against her lower back.

Smiling, eyes still closed, body still lethargic, she allowed herself to lean back against him and open her body to his embrace. Briefly the snatched thought that this time next week they'd be back at Downton and gone would be mornings spent lazily making love with hours of nothingness easing out ahead of them.

The thought was brushed away as his hand moved between her legs, pressing and seeking, his mouth gliding over her neck, down to her shoulder, the top of her arm, until she acquiesced and twisted her head round in order for her mouth to meet his. They lay like that for a while, his wonderful fingers working magic, his mouth doing the same, the joy and heat of it all filling her completely. Who would have ever thought this could be; that he would be so very attentive?

It wasn't until she gasped into his mouth, her body pushing upwards towards him that they shifted, enough for her to move beneath him, for his eager hands to ease down her thighs as she parted her legs around him.

"Good morning," he whispered along her neck, his tongue ticking her collarbone.

She slid her hands gracefully up his bare back, a light smile playing across her face as his mouth found hers again.

"Good morning my darling," she whispered against his lips.

He suddenly gasped tightly, stilling above her, hands gripping the pillow.

"What's wrong?" She gripped his shoulders, concern replacing desire in one sure swoop.

"Ahh…" he moved his hand, trying to support his body.

"What? Charles…"

"My back."

"You've pulled your back?" She tried to sit up, to help him move and turn over. In agony he flopped beside her, turning as much as he could. She leant over him, "Charles, how bad, should I fetch a Doctor?"

He shook his head, eyes creased together as he tried to ride out the sharp stab of pain. "…Cramp…" he finally uttered.

She sat back, looking down at him, "Cramp?" She asked incredulously.

He nodded, still breathing deeply, unprepared for her slap on his chest. "Cramp!" She said again, "Lord above Charles I thought you were having a heart-attack."

He reached for her hands, "I'm glad you were so concerned."

"Concerned! We've been married a week, how would it look if you died in my bed following a heart attack?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at her wide-eyed expression, "Like I died happy."

She gave in and smiled, rubbing her palm on his chest now, "How's the cramp?"

"Easing."

"Good," she leant down to kiss him; he pulled her tight against him again, his arms encircling her body. She breathed deeply, "So the cramp didn't dampen your… spirits, then?"

He chuckled again, "No, but you may have to erm…" He gasped again, in pleasure this time, as her hand took hold of his painful erection, "Yes, just that." He managed to grind out, his fingers fumbling over her body, eyes closed in ecstasy as she touched him.

She moved on top of him, glorious in her new found confidence, she guided him inside her delighting in their shared moans at the unity.

"How I love my wife," he muttered to the ceiling, hands firm on her hips as she set a slow, steady rhythm.

She bent forward to kiss him, her hands by his head, flat against the pillow as she supported herself. "Never stop," she whispered, "never."

* * *

"I can't imagine a day without you." He said later, his body still shaking with pleasure, his fingers trailing up and down her spine. She lay on top of him, their skin slick with the exertion of their love-making.

She kissed his chest, "Well, it's quite likely you'll never have to. Except of course when you join them for the London season next year."

His hold on her tightened momentarily at the thought, "Ridiculous how quickly I've grown used to having you beside me at night, I can't imagine sleeping alone now."

"Me neither."

He kissed her hair, enjoying the silence for a moment, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. "We should get up."

"Not yet, it's not late."

"No, but we have to start getting ready."

"What for?"

"I have a surprise for you."

"Oh?" She looked up at him, "different to this morning's surprise?"

He slid his fingers into her hair, "I thought we'd take a trip. Just for a couple of days, make it more like a honeymoon."

"It _has_ been like a honeymoon." She smiled, folding her arms on his chest and leaning her chin on them, "It is our honeymoon."

"Well I've arranged it all –,"

"When?" she interrupted. "Before the wedding?"

"Weeks before. We take the train at 11p.m. I have booked a hotel room, only above a pub but the reputation is good –,"

"Where?" she interrupted again. "Where are we going?"

"By the sea of course," he smiled broadly at the memory of their last sojourn there. "Lytham St Annes, I thought it a great shame your sister couldn't be at our wedding and I… what's wrong?"

"Did you contact Mabel?" She moved to sit up. "Have you spoken to her?"

"No, there was no time to contact her, I just thought whilst we were there it might be nice to make her acquaintance." he brushed her upper arm as she pulled the sheets around her, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No, of course not, it's just rather a shock, to see her again after all this time. I hadn't even considered…" she glanced down at his concerned expression, reaching forward to touch his cheek, "thank you. It's very kind, very thoughtful."

"Well the weather has been wonderful so we should at least get a walk by the sea, and a change of scenery is always nice."

"It is." She looked toward the clock, "I suppose we best get up then, have some breakfast before we have to go."

He watched as she reached for her robe, opened the wardrobe and scanned the contents for what to wear. There was suddenly a feeling of apprehension in the room that wasn't there ten minutes ago (far from it) and he worried he'd somehow crossed a boundary.

* * *

"You drink too much tea," he complained as she finally exited the lavatories at the station and joined him on the platform.

"It's a long journey," she said taking her bag from him, "I don't want to be caught out. And you drink just as much as I do, if not more."

"How more?"

"Your hands are bigger, your cup is bigger."

"Your logic seems rather strained."

She smiled up at him as the train pulled in, allowing him to open the door for her and hold her bag again as she got on board. She'd always enjoyed train journeys; you got to see so much more of the country travelling that way.

Of course he slept on the train. His newspaper, still folded, on his lap, his head falling back and forth until it finally came to rest upon her shoulder. She read for a while. Watched the scenery. Fiddled with her nails. Anything but focus on the niggling sourness in the pit of her stomach.

She'd written to her sister of course, they wrote quite regularly, and she'd informed her of the wedding. Her reply could be described as, at best, curt, perhaps polite at a push. There was always an underlying current with Mabel; a slight hint of humour at the fact Elsie could even consider something so ridiculous as marriage at this late stage in life. And to Downton's butler. She'd taken particular delight in _that_ fact. There was no time to visit, to attend the ceremony, she was too busy, they were all too busy. Farms didn't just 'stop'.

When they arrived it was already afternoon and they were both hungry. They walked from the station to the heart of the town and ate chips on the promenade as they watched bathers play around in the surf.

"The day's getting on," he said watching the sky, low clouds rolling in over the horizon.

"Hmm."

"You know the address don't you, should we leave our things at the pub first?"

"Maybe we should leave it until tomorrow, perhaps send a note first."

"Tomorrow's our only full day here."

She bit down on her lip, crossing her legs at the ankle and swung her legs.

"You seem reluctant to go," he said watching her face.

"Apprehensive perhaps." She glanced at his concerned expression and reached for his hand, resting hers on top of his. "It's just been a long time and to be honest Mabel and I have never had the easiest of relationships, not since we were children anyhow."

She breathed deeply, closed her eyes for a moment before continuing.

"When I decided to go into service she couldn't understand my choice; why would I leave the farm? But of course the irony is she left too… eventually. After my parents died anyhow."

"I'm sorry," he turned his hand over and folded his fingers with hers. "I thought I was doing something nice."

"Oh you have, really you have, it's very kind. You weren't to know and I am looking forward to seeing her, I'm not saying we hate each other, it's just that it's been such a long time, I feel nervous."

"Well, perhaps once we see her that feeling will disappear."

"Perhaps. We'll take our cases first and then find the address. I have a letter with me with it on."

"I knew you'd be prepared."

* * *

It took almost thirty-five minutes on the bus to the farm, and then a long walk to the main house up a muddy path. She was surprised to find how nervous she felt as she approached the front door; Charles' hand was on back, just lightly, offering support.

She knocked, stood back, almost leaning against her husband.

A woman that looked very much like Elsie, only slightly taller and slightly older, unbolted the door. Her face was ruddy, she wore an apron and had the look Mrs Patmore wears when bothered during a busy period.

"Elsie?" She mouthed, rubbing her hands furiously on the apron.

"Hello Mabel, it's so good to see you." All of her concerns disappeared as she faced her, and she stepped forward quickly and drew her into an embrace.

"It's good to see you too," she said against her shoulder, "a surprise." She glanced over to where the tall, imposing man stood watching them, "Is this your new husband?"

"Charles Carson," he said, as softly as he could manage, holding his hand out to her, "Very pleased to meet you Mrs Heath."

"Oh goodness, do call me Mabel." She shook his hand, and Charles noted the hearty grip.

"I'll try my best."

Elsie moved to stand beside him. Resting her hand on his arm. "I'm so happy you're finally meeting."

"_Finally_ being the operative word, I've been hearing about you for years and years in her letters. Come in, I'll make some tea."

The kitchen was large and warm and smelled of baking. The large table was covered with pies, scones and cakes.

"I'm baking for market," Mabel explained, "Jack can sell it with the milk and we make a little extra on the side."

"It smells divine," Charles said removing his coat, careful to avoid discussing Elsie's rather limited repertoire in the kitchen.

"Don't let him eat your profits," Elsie teased as she took his coat and hung them in the hall. "He has a sweet tooth."

"She never told me that in her letters." Mabel leant on the back of one of the kitchen table chairs eyeing up this man she'd heard so much about. "Well, I'll say this, it certainly took you long enough to ask."

"Mabel," Elsie rebuffed, her cheeks reddening.

"I'm just saying, he waited a fine few years before he made his move."

Charles coughed and Elsie rested her hand on his on the table. "It wasn't like that, things don't happen like that in –,"

"In your kind of world? I know that, a lot of things that happen in the real world don't affect your world. Tea Mr Carson?"

He nodded, a little dumbfounded by the woman's unfailing honesty and robust directness, "Yes, please."

He glanced quickly at Elsie, "She's worse than you!" He mouthed.

"So, Elsie Carson then." She brought a huge brown teapot to the table.

"Yes, I'm still rather getting used to it myself."

"Well you were Elsie Hughes for a very long time, to be honest we thought you'd stay that way forever, Jack always said it was a shame you turned down Joe."

Grimacing slightly Elsie dropped sugar into Charles' tea and handed it to him quickly.

"How are the children?" Elsie said cutting her sister off.

"They're well, adults now of course, I have three grandchildren so far!" She chuckled, "handfuls though."

"How lovely though, to have them." Elsie sipped her own tea.

"You don't have children Mr Carson?"

"Of course not," he stopped, paused, softened his voice, "I have never been married before."

"I told you that Mabel, I'm sure."

"Perhaps. Children are a blessing though."

"They are," Charles said quickly, reading his wife's unease, "they bring the house to life."

Mabel finally sat down across from them, "You have a cottage now don't you."

"We do, we're settling in." Elsie smiled, "It's rather nice."

"So this is your… honeymoon?"

"In a way." Elsie said gently. "We've taken two weeks off, to settle into the cottage."

"If you'll excuse me, I might take a turn around the yard," Charles said standing, "get some air, give you time to talk."

"Feel free, watch where you're walking though in those fine shoes."

"Thank you," he let his hand linger for a moment on Elsie's shoulder before disappearing back down the hall and out of the solid oak door.

Elsie waited for it to close before she spoke, "Must you be so forthright with him, he isn't used to it."

"He's used to you."

"That's me. We've had a long time to build up to it, as you so handily reminded us."

Mabel shrugged, "How are you finding it then, marriage?"

"Actually, I'm rather enjoying it."

Her sister's eyes widened, "Really? _All_ of it?"

Elsie shook her head, "Yes, _all _of it."

"I am surprised."

She finished her tea, "So was I." She smiled over her cup. "I thought we'd bumble along the same way we always had, now I find myself…" She suddenly felt coy, embarrassed by revealing her feelings.

"You're in love," Mabel said, as if surprised by the fact herself.

"I suppose I am. You don't have to look so surprised or be so judgemental."

"Was I being judgemental?

"Weren't you," she lowered her voice, "aren't you always."

Mabel tutted as she rinsed her cup, "So we're still here then, after all this time."

Angry with herself for the sudden change in mood Elsie got up and joined her sister by the sink, rinsing her own cup and watching Charles talking to the hens by his feet through the kitchen window.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be abrupt."

"We've hardly ever been close, have we?" Mabel admitted.

Elsie respected directness but right now a little cushioning might have been nice. Nevertheless she nodded, tilted her head to one side as she watched her sister return to kneading bread. She turned and gripped the back of the chair she stood by, her throat tight as she contemplated what to say next.

"I don't want to argue Elsie," Mabel said gently, "You're my little sister and in a way I'm proud of what you've accomplished, I am. But your life is so far removed from mine."

She stared at her sister realising what strangers they'd become. They used to play in the mud together, eat berries off the tree in the woods by their house, there was a time Mabel was her closest confidante – now she knew practically nothing about her.

She wondered what had happened that she couldn't be glad for Elsie's joy, why couldn't she simply be pleased for her?

"I don't want to argue either." Was all she said in response.

"What happened, it's a long time ago." She dropped the lump of dough into a tin and covered it with a tea-towel. "The decisions you made, they have little importance now upon my life."

Elsie couldn't help feel that the words, although meant to ease their awkward relationship, stung slightly – the emphasis of 'my' in particular, as if establishing a void between them that wouldn't easily be filled.

So much for building bridges.

"How long are you here for?" Mabel asked.

Charles shut the door behind him and made his way back to the kitchen and Elsie looked up at him as she responded, "tonight and tomorrow, we go home late tomorrow afternoon."

"Would you like to have dinner tomorrow, I can arrange for Jack to be here then?"

"I think we'll be busy." She said too quickly as Charles responded with, "That would be nice," at the same time.

Mabel smiled knowingly, "Well, either way, I'll be cooking a pie and we'll be sitting down at 12:00, just as we do every day, join us or not, the offer's there."

Charles took it as a kind offer.

Elsie as a sign of dismissal.

"We should walk back for the bus," she said, "thank you for the tea, and the talk."

"Thank you for visiting. It's a long way to come, I appreciate that."

"Yes…"

Charles would have lingered but she was in her coat within a minute and standing by the door as he questioned Mabel on the livestock they kept. He hurried when he caught his wife's stare and followed her quick-march back down the driveway.

She didn't speak on the bus ride back, only stared out of the window at the darkening view. When they got back to the public house she disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutes and he sat silently in the little room with his coat on listening to the noise of outside.

She seemed almost surprised to still find him there when she emerged and did a double-take at him sat in the small chair by the window.

"It's started to rain." He said to fill the silence.

"English summer. Thank goodness it waited until we were back."

"Elsie…" he rested his hands on his knees, leaning forward as if longing to say something vital.

"Yes?"

"Are you, I mean…"

"Oh for goodness sake Charles spit it out!"

Open mouthed he drummed his fingers on his knees as he watched her remove her hatpins and hat and place them on the top shelf in the wardrobe.

"Do you want to eat downstairs?"

"I'm not in the least hungry; in fact I have a headache." She looked at his pained expression and hated herself, "You go down, read the paper, have a drink and some food, I'm going to take a bath. It might make me feel better."

"I don't like to leave you."

"I'm a big girl. I've been alone most of my life." She disappeared into the bathroom and he listened for a moment to the sound of running water.

"If you're sure," he said rising uncertainly.

"I am."

"Right then, well, I won't be long."

When he'd gone she sat on the edge of the tub and cried.

* * *

He brought her a sandwich and a bottle of lemonade when he came back up, she was only just getting out of the bath and he placed them on the side table in the bedroom as some sort of pitiful offering, hoping her mood had changed as he listened to her dry and change.

He was out of his day clothes and reclining on the bed when she finally emerged from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following her in.

"What are you wearing?"

"My nightgown, why?"

"It buttons right up."

Her brow crinkled as she looked down at herself, "What?"

He gestured at her collar, "It fastens right up here."

"Charles, it's meant to." She removed her robe. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take it off."

"No!"

"Why?"

"They're not my sheets."

"You're being silly."

"Well thank you so very much. I'm so glad I have you to rely on to put me in my place." She turned her back on him, focussed on hanging her clothes in the small wardrobe.

"I'm just saying…"

"Don't say anything…"

"I'm merely pointing out that –,"

"Oh for goodness sake Charles!" Leave it alone! Will you just for one second leave me alone!" Her voice broke and she had to catch her breath, steady herself against the wardrobe door before she resumed the task of hanging her clothes.

The silence was painful as she closed the door and re-fastened the suitcase, putting it beside the bed. She daren't look up to his face, to the place where he still sat upright in the bed watching her. She'd never shouted at him like that. Never in all the years they'd been together.

By her side of the bed she stopped to remove her slippers, turn back the sheets.

She heard him breathe deeply then open his mouth, "I just want to…"

He stopped when he saw her close her eyes, face screwed up in frustration, "Sometimes Charles, it's a gift to know when to stop and let it go. This would be one of those moments."

And so he did. Sitting in silence as she got in bed beside him and opened her book.

"I'm not hungry," she said when she noticed the sandwich.

He shrugged, "Of course you aren't," he drew back the sheets and climbed into bed beside her. "Sorry I seem to be interfering."

She closed her eyes again, "I can't talk about this."

"About what? I appear to have upset you."

"No. I just need to be alone."

"You want me to leave? Where should I go – find another room?"

"No." She shut her eyes, leant her head back against the wall, "No I don't want that."

"I wouldn't sleep," he said gently.

She tilted her head slightly to look at him, her eyes heavy with unshed tears.

"I don't mean to be harsh."

"Let me help. That's what I'm here for, it's my job now."

She smiled, rubbing her cheek where the tears spilled over. "It's my problem, and it's an old problem and one I should be able to bury. It's as familiar to me as breathing."

"Elsie…" He reached for her, knocking her book to the floor as he drew her into an embrace.

She sobbed against his firm chest, pulled awkwardly against him in the strange bed in the strange room.

When she'd calmed she lay more comfortably, still resting against his chest but both laying now. "I'm sorry I shouted."

"I can let it go."

She chuckled sadly, "I know you will."

"You're worrying me; this was meant to be a joyful trip."

"It should be, it just reminds me of where I came from."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"In some ways. Mabel and I… she blames me for things, for leaving. I was younger, she always said that gave me more freedom, she felt tied to the farm, to our parents."

He kissed the top of her head.

"My life should have been mapped out as securely as hers was – farm life, marry a farmer myself, help run the farm, die a farmer's wife with a dozen children and a ruddy complexion."

He thought of the woman he'd met today and how negatively Elsie seemed to sum up her existence.

"Needless to say I didn't want it and I broke my Father's heart when I left Scotland." She breathed deeply, running her hand over his chest, across his stomach, "My parents grew ill, as old people do, and I wasn't there and Mabel was the only girl so she took the burden of it. And she blamed me for not being there to help. Of course when they died she left, she'd been courting Jack for years and they had the opportunity to purchase their own land here and things became what they became but we've always maintained this distance, this awkwardness."

"I'm sorry for that."

"I know." She turned over so she was looking up at him, "I don't think I've ever had such an emotionally turbulent week in my entire life."

"Things were going so well," he twisted her hair around his fingers, "I didn't mean to put a dampener on things."

"It isn't your fault."

"Perhaps we should still go for lunch though…"

She squeezed her eyes shut, "Can we talk about it tomorrow, or I'll worry all night and never sleep, and I look haggard as it is."

Her eyes were red from crying and her skin flushed but she still looked like the prettiest girl he'd ever met, "tomorrow."

"Thank you," she lifted herself up from him, leaning over to turn off the lamp and lying on her side.

He moved behind her, held her securely, his heart still heavy with the sadness she seemed to carry – never would he have thought this visit would turn out to be so glum. He'd meant it to be a joy for her, a treat, not a reminder of the distance in her family.

He kissed the back of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair and squeezing her stomach

"Talk to me," she whispered into the darkness, her voice still clogged with unshed tears. She rubbed the back of his hand where it lay upon her stomach, "Read to me."

"I don't have a book." He kissed her head again. "And it's dark." He closed his eyes, sorting through the many verses he'd come across in his years before he settled on one. "As fair art thou, my bonnie lass," he finally said, echoing her familiar timbre as much as he could.

She smiled, folding her fingers with his, "Yes," she swallowed, "recite me that."

"So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry:  
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee well, my only Luve And fare thee well, a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile."

* * *

**_I hope you're still enjoying this - please let me know!_**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Quite a lot of dialogue in this one but hopefully still enjoyable! Thank you for all the lovely comments and reviews, I really enjoy reading what you've got to say on the story.**_

* * *

**Day 9**

He woke feeling frustrated. The bed beside him was empty and he reached across it, missing her warmth. Turning onto his back he stared at the ceiling, listening to the ebb and flow of the tide. He wondered what the day would bring, where it would take them, and then he wondered just when it was he'd become so lazy. It used to be, only a few weeks before, that he woke and was up out of bed, immediate, washing, dressing, on with the day. Now he longed to stay in bed with his wife and let the day do what it wanted without them.

"Good morning," she said as she came in, closing the door to their room behind her.

"You're out early."

"I couldn't sleep, thought I'd get some air and I bought your paper. Thought you might like to read it over breakfast."

"I suppose I best get up."

"I suppose." She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and leant down to kiss him, "I'm hungry."

He took hold of her hand, rubbing her wrist with his thumb, "I missed you, this morning."

"Were you awake long?"

"Not really, but I missed you nevertheless."

"Silly thing," she turned his hand over in her lap and stared at the lines on his palm.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," she smiled, though half-heartedly, and shrugged, "a little. I slept some despite the strange bed and someone left me with a loving sentiment to reflect on."

"I'm glad you appreciated it."

"I always appreciate your literary knowledge, you're very well-read you know, thought your Scottish accent is lacking a little."

"Perhaps you'll take me there and teach me."

"Perhaps." She sighed and squeezed his hand, "well then, you get up and ready and we'll go have breakfast. The sun is out," she got up and began laying out his trousers on the bed, "and I think it will be warm so I thought we might go for a walk along the shore, before the tide goes too far out."

"If that's what you'd like."

"I would."

"Then I'll get ready."

* * *

"I ate too much at breakfast," he complained as she rolled up the hem of her skirt and slipped her shoes into the bag she carried.

"You did not," she glanced over her shoulder at him, "well, maybe you did. I told you not to have more toast. And three cups of tea."

"I'm rather regretting that too now."

"Don't be a spoilsport." She stepped down onto the warm sand and audibly sighed as it sank between her toes.

He watched her for a while, sitting himself down on the grassy bank and taking off his shoes and socks as she made her way to the shore. He thought how beautiful she looked, framed by the sea and the sunlight. Then his stomach groaned and he thought how hot it was and that she was right about the toast. His life always seemed a constant reminder of how wrong he often got things. Not with her though, not anymore, ever since his proposal everything had been right and he was astonishing himself by how far he'd come since then. 'Leaps and bounds', he kept hearing in his head, reminded of a teacher at school when he learned arithmetic and made the most progress. He often felt like he was wallowing in affection now, she'd given him that, and trust and pride and comfort and support; life would be nothing without her.

"Hurry up," she shouted back over her shoulder to him and he was glad it was still early and the beach not yet full.

Tucking his shoes under his arm he set off to join her.

"Isn't it glorious?" She said, watching the clear water tickle her toes.

"A relief," he breathed, closing his eyes, "it's so hot already."

"I know, take your jacket off, nobody will mind, and roll your shirt sleeves up."

He shook his head as he carried out her instructions, "Quite bossy aren't you Mrs Hughes."

"Why do you think I've been so successful all these years?"

She took his shoes from him and put them in the bag alongside her own then draped his jacket over the top of it with hers. "Shall we walk for a while?"

"Yes, but I'll carry that."

He took the bag from her, and she hooked her arm over his as they set off.

"How far shall we walk?" She asked, looking at the distant lighthouse. "Think we'll make it there?"

"I think we can just about manage it."

She squeezed his arm and they set off.

"It will be good for my expanding waistline anyhow," he said chuckling.

"Next week you'll be back to your normal routine, it's just a treat."

"Everything feels like a treat at the moment, I'm concerned I'll wake and it will just be a dream, 'Too flattering-sweet to be substantial'."

"Now I know that one," she bit down on her lip, "don't tell me, even if it takes all day."

"I won't."

For a while they walked in silence, enjoying the splash of the water around their ankles, the warm sun on their backs, the contentedness of a couple who know each other so well they don't need words.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she suddenly said.

"Why? You mean you're going for a walk without me?"

"I meant you waking to find me gone, and not… well, you know."

He glanced at her confused, "It isn't a daily requirement."

She blushed, "No but, well you seem to enjoy mornings."

"You don't?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Of course I do, that's not what I meant." She shook her head, "I shouldn't have brought it up, I'm embarrassed now."

"I thought we could talk of anything."

"Some things perhaps shouldn't be discussed."

"Like you believing it was somehow written into our marriage vows that you shouldn't neglect your 'wifely duties' even for a day?"

"Well, I'm not much of a cook!"

They both stopped, paused, looked at the other and then laughed loudly.

"Oh stop it," she pushed at his chest, "stop laughing."

"You stop laughing."

She giggled again, looking away from him, pulling him forward to continue the walk, "It's Shakespeare." She said when her giggles died down.

"Which play?" He smiled, proud, amused, happy.

"I think Romeo says it after he first meets Juliet, you took us to see it in York once, years ago, with the other servants."

"And you brushed away tears at the end."

"I thought nobody saw."

"I don't miss a thing."

"That's true. The amount of silver cloths I've had to purchase from over-use."

"Don't mock me," he squeezed her hand, "I realise now there are more important things than polishing silver."

"Such as?"

"Wifely duties," he said deadpan and she laughed again, heartily, covering her mouth to keep it in.

"If you tease me you won't be the recipient of any."

"Then I promise I'll never tease again. How about family ties, they're important."

She stiffened slightly, looked away and then back at him, sadly, "You want to ask more about them?"

"Not if you don't want to tell."

"There isn't too much more to tell." She bit her lip again, "My sister blamed me for my parents' deaths; my father died within a year of my move to Yorkshire, my mother three years after that. And I wasn't there. And she was. And I'll never know how hard that was for her."

"Just as she'll never know how hard it was for you to not be there."

"I expect not." She leant her head against his upper arm, seeking his comfort, "I never feel guilty though, never, I know it was the right thing for me, I couldn't have stayed there, I would have dwindled and died."

"You flourished at Downton, so quickly."

"I know. And I'm proud of that fact, even if it makes me selfish."

"It doesn't, you're the most unselfish person I know. And the most patient. And forgiving…"

"Ahh, so we reach the point of your flattery."

"I think we should go. For one thing I'd like to meet this 'Jack'."

"For one thing you want to try her pie!" She chuckled, stopping and facing the water. "I don't know."

"It will do you both good, part on good terms not unhappy ones. You cried last night over your soured relationship with her; I want you to leave here feeling satisfied if nothing else, that you at least had a try."

"I forget how wise you can be."

"And foolish and inconsiderate and ridiculous."

She placed her hand on his chest as she turned to face him, "Never," and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, feeling dwarfed as she stood barefoot before him, "My husband would never be those things."

"_I_ love you Mrs Carson," he whispered by her ear, "don't forget that."

She smiled as he kissed her forehead, aware suddenly of others on the beach and what they must think of a couple their age behaving in such a manner.

"Come on, I want to see the lighthouse and we need to be back for eleven to get the bus if we're going to make it there in time for lunch."

* * *

They took flowers and chocolates this time, though Elsie fretted the entire journey that they'd melt on the hot bus. She was fussing over how tight Charles was holding the flowers as they made their way up the drive only to be greeted by a screaming four-year old boy racing down towards them in shorts and wellingtons.

They stood to the side as he whizzed past chased by an older man with a shock of white hair.

"Jack?" Elsie called after him, it had been so long since she'd seen him but she'd recognise his heavy Northern drawl anywhere.

He scooped the screaming boy up into his arms, swinging him round as he spun to face them.

"My goodness, Elsie Hughes." He still dangled the giggling toddler in his arms as he came towards them. "But it's not now is it; this is your husband, Mr…"

"Carson." Charles held out his hand and Jack waggled his little finger with his own, the only part of his hand not full with a squirming child.

"I hoped you'd make it, she wanted you too you know."

Elsie nodded, "And I'm glad we came, if only to make the acquaintance of this young chap." She bent slightly, dropping her head round in order to see the child's face. "Hello, my name's Elsie, and who are you?"

"Who are you?" He copied.

Jack turned him the right way up, his wellingtons squelching in the mud as he put him down. "This is your…" he smiled at Elsie, "your Aunt in a way, I guess."

The boy stood in front of Charles and looked from his feet all the way up his body to the top of his head.

"Hello young man," Charles said, his deep baritone causing the boy to step back. "And how are you today?"

The boy stared at Charles for a moment longer before holding his hand to his head and mock-saluting him. "My name is Charlie." He said firmly.

"He's into soldiers at the moment." Jack whispered.

"Ah," Elsie smiled down at him, his little hand wobbling as he saluted, "pleased to meet you soldier Charlie. This is Charles."

She nudged Charles' arm until he coughed and saluted back, "At ease soldier."

The little boy smiled gleefully, "I'm Charles," he stated before racing back up to the house and chasing the chickens away from the door.

"This could be confusing," Charles said staring after him.

Jack clapped his arm, "Good for you, marrying Elsie I mean, she always was a fine woman. If it wasn't for her sister snagging me first I might 'ave…"

"Now don't start that," she interrupted, she looking at Charles' worried expression, "He's joking, he should have been on the stage not a farm. He loved Mabel from the first moment he clapped eyes on her at the Christmas dance."

"In a barn on a crisp winter evening." He chipped in melodramatically. "Nothing wrong with a bit of romance," he added, "Well, now you're Mrs _Carson _you'll know."

She was shaking her head after him as he chased the boy again.

"He's loud," Charles whispered.

"You'll get used to him," she took the crook of his arm, "come on."

Inside Mabel was walking the length of the kitchen with a crying baby in her arms.

"Oh, thank goodness, help has arrived. Here, take her," she plonked the baby in Elsie's arms. "Why my daughter would think it's acceptable to lumber me with two young uns at my age. I need to serve the potatoes before they're nothing more than a pile of mush."

Elsie balanced the baby, sliding the box of chocolates onto the table and glancing around at Charles who looked lost amongst the chaos.

"This is farm life," she assured him, "hang our coats up and clear the table will you."

He put the flowers down, took her coat off as she rocked the baby and hung it in the hall alongside his own.

"Can you get the pie out?" Mabel asked when he came back in, her back to him as she drained pots and pans.

He looked at Elsie and mouthed, "Out of where?"

"The oven," she mouthed back, pointing at it and then at a dishcloth on the side.

He did as requested and set it down on the table, it smelt divine and for a second he forgot the noise and chaos of a hot kitchen and two children under five.

"There, there," Elsie cooed, tickling the baby's chin as she rocked her. "What's her name?"

"Sarah. Just eight months, doesn't like the heat."

"Scottish blood," Elsie added, smiling blissfully down at the warm weight in her arms, "yes you have, and you don't like this sticky summer weather do you? And neither do I."

Charles watched her as she moved, walking back and forth, calming the child, speaking nonsense to it until it's crying finally ceased and it hummed gently.

"I think she's asleep, should I put her down?"

"Please, there's a cot in the next room, its cooler in there."

"I'll find it."

She left the room and Charles couldn't help but feel a little deserted; he turned back to Mabel, "Anything else I can do to help?"

"Set the table perhaps," she chuckled, "I bet you know how to do that well."

He smiled, "I have had some practice yes," he took hold of the flowers and handed them to her, "we brought these for you."

"How kind, thank you."

He shrugged, "You're making dinner, and it smells wonderful."

She chuckled again, whispering, "She never was much of a cook, even as a child. But always bossy."

"You're whispering about me," Elsie said as she came in and closed the door. "Don't ruin his impression of me."

"I'm not sure I could," Mabel said watching the look that passed between them, he looked at her with such adoration, such focus. She remembered being a newlywed and how very wonderful it was.

"Will you shout them in too Elsie, otherwise we'll never eat and he needs to wash his hands."

"Jack or the boy?" She teased.

* * *

Charles appeared to have made a new friend over lunch. Charlie insisted on sitting next to him, in having the same portion of pie, in placing his chair so close that he was squashed up against Charles' arm and wobbled every time Charles lifted his fork to his mouth.

"Sing a song," Charlie said his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his hands and he gazed sideways at his new hero.

"Well, I don't think dinner's quite the time."

Elsie smiled, "Oh go on, indulge him."

He glared at her cheeky smile, "I can't think of one."

"We'll sing after dinner," Mabel said, saving him, "you can sing with Grandad when you go out to feed the sheep."

"Can I have my wellingtons back then?"

"Yes. They were just too muddy for the kitchen."

"Good." He returned his focus to Charles. "I'm only feeding sheep if you do. We can march there."

Charles' eyebrows almost met in the middle, "I don't have any wellingtons," he said hopefully.

"Take Grandad's." The little boy leant in whispering conspiringly, "he has two old pairs in the shed."

Jack laughed loudly, "You're free to borrow them old man, though I feel your feet may be slightly larger than mine."

"Maybe Joe's will fit," Mabel said, "he always had big feet, even as a child, like two flippers on the end of his legs."

Elsie laughed along with them, relishing the easy-going nature and warm atmosphere in the room.

"Maybe," he looked down at the young lad, "maybe we'll try them and see."

She wanted to hug him then.

"Thank you so much for lunch," Elsie said, "it was lovely, I'd forgotten how good a cook you are."

"You're welcome, we'll clean up whilst they go shall we?"

She nodded, "Of course."

* * *

"Do they hurt?" She watched as he wiggled his feet about in the rubber boots, they were in the next room, the baby soundly asleep in the crib, and he was sat on the couch attempting to tuck his trousers into the boots.

"They seem fine, a fraction too small but it isn't going to be too far is it?"

"I should hope not, you're not cut out for it."

"I can walk." He stood up. "I have energy."

She giggled, "I know that," she placed her hands on his chest. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Being you," she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him very gently on the mouth. "The kindest man I've ever met."

"I'll remind you of that next time I do something you disapprove of."

"Do. Remind me of this moment. Thank you for this trip, thank you for making me come back here. I feel I've made something of amends with Mabel, or will have by the time we leave. I don't want her to be unhappy."

He slipped his arms around her waist, "I don't care about anyone else. I just want you to be happy."

"And you too."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"Charles Carson are you telling me than your happiness is dependent on mine?"

"What I'm saying is I think the two are very closely linked."

She smiled before kissing him again, then whispering, "I hope our train doesn't get in too late tonight, I'm looking forward to being back in our own bed."

"Lord above don't fill my head with such things." He squeezed her waist before quickly letting her go at the sound of a young boy racing past the door, "Come on!" he squealed as he passed.

"You best get going, your new fan awaits."

* * *

"He looks rather severe," Mabel said as she rinsed the plates and Elsie opened her mouth to respond before Mabel cut her off. "But," she said strongly, "he's a lovely man. I think you've chosen well."

Elsie wasn't sure she'd 'chosen' at all, her feelings for Charles had blossomed light years ago, she'd just been waiting for him to catch up – an entire lifetime it seemed.

"Thank you," she said in response. "And your family is lovely too, I'm happy for you, very happy."

Mabel paused and looked at her younger sister, "Thank you. I'm happy for you too, you made the right choice, we both did."

Elsie nodded, they didn't need to say more, it was enough and she was glad of it.

"Will Jane have any more children?" She asked, changing the direction of their talk.

"Oh who knows, I tell her not to, two is enough. Four was probably too many."

"But you love them all, and it's nice to have such a big family."

"Not when they're all here at Christmas with their racket."

They both laughed, "Like having a house full of young maids and eager footmen."

"I bet he keeps them in line."

"_I_ keep them in line!" Elsie emphasised, "And then I keep him in line too."

"That I can believe. It's going well then, marriage?"

She shrugged, "So far, very well. It's hardly a dramatic change; we've practically been married for years…" She held up her hand at Mabel's wide-eyed expression, "Not in that way thank you. I mean we already know each other so well, I can predict his reaction before an event happens. Whatever he does or says doesn't shock me. And I'm comfortable with him, does that sound dull?"

"Not at all, I think being comfortable with someone is probably the heart of a marriage. That and trust."

Elsie nodded.

"And friendship," Mabel continued, "and probably a good dose of fun too – if you get my meaning."

"You can stop now."

Mabel chuckled, emptying the soapy water from the sink, "Always the prude."

"I was not."

"You were too."

Elsie shook her head, "Just cautious."

"No. Not really." Mabel looked her over, "My brave little sister, that's what we all thought, heading out into the world."

"Yorkshire, I didn't manage to get very far."

"Far enough it seems. Don't they say everything happens for a reason."

"I'm not sure I believe in that."

"Neither do I, but it sounds good." They both laughed, "Shall we have a sherry before they return?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

* * *

Elsie slept on the train; she was practically asleep as soon as they sat down, her face pressed against his shoulder. He figured she'd hardly slept the previous night. He fought to stay awake, afraid if he dropped off it would be for the night and they'd miss their stop.

It was late when they reached the station; he had to hold her tight as they stepped down to the platform, she was still wobbly with sleep.

"I'll get a taxi; you wait here on one of the benches."

"No, let's walk, I want to walk, it'll clear my head."

"It's late, and dark."

"Not too dark," she took hold of his arm, steering them towards the exit. "Unless you're too tired."

"No, you're probably right it will do us good, sat too long on that thing, my back's stiff."

"You're sure that's not from chasing a four-year old in a muddy field."

"I was not chasing!"

She chuckled as she looked at his face.

"Well, maybe a little. He's quite convincing."

"I think you made a friend for life."

They nodded _good evening_ to a couple as they passed, "we ought to stick to the main paths, I can't do fields in the dark," he admitted.

"Do you ever regret it?" She asked softly, enjoying the cool summer air on her face.

"What?"

"Not having children. Doing all the things we see couples do."

"Perhaps, at times, but I've always been content with my lot. And now…"

"And now?" She teased. "You're beyond content?"

"Beyond everything I ever dreamed."

She smiled, "Flatterer, you'll make me blush."

"Wait," he paused and put their case down. "Can we swap arms?"

"Oh of course, should I carry it for a while?"

"Certainly not."

Shaking her head she moved from his right arm to his left, "Stubborn fool."

"You could put it down to my being caring."

"I do. And stubborn."

They walked in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of summer as the last signs of sunshine disappeared and the inky blue of night time surrounded them.

"Do you ever regret it?" He finally asked. "You looked so comfortable with those children."

"Like you, perhaps, at times. Then I see Mabel's life and realise that's what mine would have been and I don't, not for a second. Children might have been nice but I've had more than enough young people to take care of over my life. And as you said, I have you." She squeezed his arm, "I don't need more."

He felt his heart lift at her words; she still had the ability to do that to him. He'd never realised he even had the ability, or capability, to love somebody as he did her.

In the cottage he sat on his comfy chair in the kitchen as she made tea and lit the fire, "You're sure you don't want me to help?"

"No, it's fine, you rest. I already slept."

He took his shoes and socks off, wiggling his toes and unbuttoning his waistcoat as he listened to her.

"Would you like some sherry, or port?"

"How about a drop of that whisky, we haven't had any since…"

She smiled coyly at him, "Since we first made love, you can say the words Charles; I think we're far past bashful now."

He blushed nevertheless.

She retrieved the whisky from the parlour, poured him a healthy measure and then returned to pouring the tea and finding out a slice of wedding cake for him.

"Hard to believe how much has changed since then," he said, his eyes closed, "not so long ago and yet it feels I've lived a lifetime." He yawned. "I wonder how you had the patience to stay with me all those years, waiting."

She tutted, "I was hardly pining like some love struck adolescent."

"Don't ruin my ideas," he smiled opening his eyes. "I rather like the thought of you pining for me."

"Boost your ego does it?"

"Amongst other things."

She busied herself as he ate his cake; made sure the doors were locked, all the curtains were drawn and finally returned to the kitchen, switching off the main light and making do with the lamp.

"Almost ready to go up?" She asked, watching him in his chair, his eyes closed again, head lolling to one side.

"Almost. You haven't drunk your tea."

"I'll have it now, my corset's bothering me though," she stood by the kitchen table fiddling with it. "I think it's just been a long day and I'm tired."

"Take the darn thing off."

"Charles! In the kitchen!"

"Who will know?" He leant forward and refilled his glass. It was warm in the room and his eyes felt heavy, senses dulling with the alcohol.

Through half-closed eyes he watched as she undressed, setting her dress over the chair, removing the restrictive corset, rolling down her stockings.

He swallowed, shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Thank the lord above for such things as stockings," he murmured.

Glaring she moved to his chair, leaning on his shoulders with just her underwear on. "You don't have to wear them," she commented. "I'm going to bed."

He reached one hand forward to slide around her waist, "Stay here with me."

She was already sliding onto his knee as she shook her head, her mouth meeting his in a clumsy kiss, "you taste of whisky," she said huskily, her knees sliding either side of him. "And this chair isn't big enough."

"Just for a cuddle."

"You always said you weren't the cuddling kind."

"Can't a man change?"

"Hmm… maybe." She kissed him again, down his neck, across his shirt-covered chest, breathing in the heady masculine fragrance. Her hands wandering between his legs until he ground out her name and she let her fingers open the fastening on his trousers.

"In the kitchen?" She whispered as she kissed her way back up to his mouth.

He wrapped his arms around her, "I'm a lucky, lucky man."

Somehow, awkwardly, he lifted her up enough to remove her underwear and she wiggled his trousers down just far enough. They worked together unbuttoning his shirt, but it didn't really matter, there in the dusky-warm light of the fire, how long it took or who did what, it just felt good and right.

They were kissing slowly, lazily, enjoying the simple pleasure of it, skin against skin. He sat forward enough for her to wrap her legs around him, unhooked her bra and buried his face against her breasts, gasping when she rolled her hips and pressed against his erection.

She pushed him to sit back in the chair, leant forward against him, and leisurely slid onto him. They set a deliciously slow rhythm, making love out of love, not lust or a selfish search for pleasure, but the quiet joy of having a true companion.

They took their time. Made sure the other was enjoying every second of their union. Touched and stroked and worshipped, until the heat between them pushed them both leisurely to a deep, shuddering climax.

"Have you any idea how much I love you?" He whispered as the firelight died down and the room was filled with long shadows, he kissed her head, tucked beneath his chin.

"I think I have a small inkling," she smiled, her body still humming with pleasure.

"A small inkling? Then I'll have to re-double my efforts to prove it."

She giggled, "You can do that to me time-and-time again if you need to prove it."

"Somehow I don't think that will be a problem. You're falling asleep?" He nudged, then glanced at the clock, almost a quarter to two in the morning.

"Mmm, take me to bed."

"I've dreamt a thousand times of you saying that to me."

She laughed again, "Well, you must have been patient too."

"Hmm," he sat forward, shifting her body gently until she slid back off his legs and stood wobbly in front of him, shivering at the loss of contact. "Or very stupid," he admitted, kissing her stomach.

He stood, lifting her into his arms. She yelped at the movement, caught off guard by it.

"I should have done this on our first night here."

"I don't think I was quite prepared for it then."

"Perhaps not. I don't think I was either."

"Don't pull your back."

"Pretend I'm a young man for a moment and can manage this easily."

"Oh all right," she leant against him, enjoying the sensation of being carried through their home and to their bed.

After all her concerns she'd enjoyed the trip and was glad she'd seen her sister again, keenly aware it may very well be the last time they'd ever see each other. But goodness it felt good to be back in their home. Alone.

Charles went to bed thinking on how the comfy chair would never quite seem the same again.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Oh how I wish for just a kiss on the show, heck I'd even settle for a hand hold! Until then I'll have to make do with writing fanfic to cheer me up!**_

* * *

**Day 10**

She wakes leisurely, warm and content, turning from her spot at the side of the bed – facing the door (easier for the loo in the middle of the night) and finds him sitting beside her reading. Without opening her eyes she slips closer to him, her arm sliding over his stomach, her head easily finding a place to rest against the side of his chest.

He turns the page of his book without missing a beat. His hand coms to rest on her back, playing with the ends of her hair.

"What are you reading?" She murmurs against his skin, flexing her fingers against the place where his heart beats.

"Charles V, fascinating man."

She smiles, he's ever thirsty for knowledge and she admires that in him.

"Have you been awake long?"

"An hour or so, I made myself some tea and thought I'd enjoy the morning with a book."

"Mmm." She kisses his chest. "Am I disturbing you?"

She hears him smile, turning the page of his book again, "Only in the way I like to be disturbed."

She tilts her head over, turning onto her back, glancing up at him behind the leather-bound book, "Can I distract you even further?"

Again, without letting a second pass, he marks the page in his book and puts it aside.

"Distract away."

For a moment she lies looking up at him, feeling wonderfully comfortable and safe, it's odd how knowing you're loved can change your perception of the world.

"What should we do today?" She asks, enjoying the feel of his hands massaging her shoulders.

"I'm going to take you out for lunch." He says, shifting beneath her, enough so she moves, giving him room to snuggle back down next to her in their bed. "Spoil you."

"I'm already spoilt," she closes her eyes as he kisses her neck, that delicate spot he likes, "time and time again."

"I want to treat you," he turns her over, and she doesn't complain, allowing him to kiss across her shoulder blades, starting to move his mouth down her spine. She giggles at the tickle of his tongue and early-morning stubble.

"I have to clean." She sighs, folding her arms on the pillow, resting her chin on her hands.

"Clean where?"

"Here. The cottage. It hasn't been done in days, if anyone were to visit…"

"They can go away," he interrupts, "I'm on my honeymoon and I don't want to be disturbed.

"Except by me?" She lifts her head up to glance down her back to him.

"Except by you," he grins back up at her and she thinks she's never seen him look so relaxed and happy.

She closes her eyes again, he's peeled back the bed sheets now and is working his way up from her ankle, massaging and kissing as he goes. She thinks she should feel embarrassed; naked, so open in front of a man, but she doesn't and she supposes that comes with the backbone of trust they have between them. Trust and friendship.

Though she's rather enjoying the attraction part of their relationship now it's here. The physical expression of love.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is barely a whisper, she can feel her skin heating up, radiating it from within.

"Enjoying my wife," he says against the back of her thigh. "Every inch of her."

She's smiling as he slides his strong arms beneath her and bids her to turn over; she suddenly feels very exposed in front of him, aware of how her breasts fall, of the creases in her skin. But then nobody is perfect, certainly not at her age, and she notices his arousal as he touches her and realises none of it really matters.

His mouth moves over her stomach and she breathes deeply, sighing on the exhale as his tongue tickles the sensitive spot that points down to her hip bones. Whenever his hands brush that spot she shudders, she's noticed he does it on purpose now. But then there are things she's learnt about him too; he likes to feel her tongue in his mouth (he groans her name at that), to have her on top so he can watch her move, to feel her fingertips sliding over his stomach and down between his legs when he doesn't expect it. She never would have thought him adventurous but then her eyes have been opened to so many new things over the past ten days she can't remember where it started.

He's easing her legs apart and she gladly consents, her hands already reaching for his shoulders, ready to welcome his body into hers. Yesterday, she remembers being on the beach and telling him he enjoyed mornings and now it occurs to her she does too – what better way to start the day.

Only he surprises her again and she yelps at his touch, at the realisation that his mouth is moving between her legs and she isn't prepared for this act of intimacy. For a moment she can't relax, she lies frozen staring up at the ceiling wondering what on earth he's doing and how he knew to and how she didn't and what that means… Then she breathes, feels his hand on her stomach and she slides her hand down to hold his. She closes her eyes, focusses on the touch of his tongue, the delicate pressure, the way her insides react to it. And then his fingers are there too and she gasps both in shock and pleasure at it, jerking up off the bed, looking down at him between her legs. Surprise and pleasure colliding. What does she know about marriage really?

He squeezes her hand that he's still holding and she lies back again, she bends her leg and finds she's pushing herself back against him. "Oh god, Charles!" She suddenly gasps, wondering how he can do this, and why the hell hasn't he done it before.

Her mind is racing, heart pounding painfully in her chest, and that deep strong pulse between her legs, she's rambling. "Charles. I want…" She pinches the skin of his hand with her own, her nails raking over it. He pauses, kisses her stomach, his other hand still there.

"You want?"

She feels he's watching her and she doesn't know whether to be turned-on by that fact or embarrassed by it.

"Tell me…"

His voice sounds so good, so low, husky, full of love and lust.

"I want to." She swallows, moans loudly again as the pressure of his fingers deliciously wraps her up in a sweet, tingling sensation. "I want you. I want to."

Her hands grasp at his shoulders drawing him up to her, meeting his mouth hungrily and passionately, and once he's fully on top of her she wraps her legs around him, pushing her body to his until he slides slowly inside whispering her name repeatedly.

The pressure is too much and it doesn't take long before she's climaxing, quickly and powerfully, and calling out his name. He pauses, giving her time to come down from her high, kissing her hair, her face, reverently. And then he moves again, deep inside her body, slowly and sensually, and this time her orgasm is drawn-out and shuddering and shared with his as he finally loses control and pours years of longing and want into his movements.

Exhausted he collapses beside her, scooping her body up to his, eyes closed as he kisses her.

"Thank you," he mumbles into her mouth.

"Thank me?" She smiles, pushing him back so she can flop against him, her body tired and sated. "That was quite some distraction."

"I don't know what came over me," he's breathless, heart pounding beneath her cheek.

"I did," she kisses his chest, at the place where his heart beats.

"I think perhaps you did, or you are, certainly you're doing something to me, I've never been this way before."

She hums as she moves her kisses up his body, moving to lie on top of him, to face him. Her eyes are sparkling with a mix of happiness and desire.

"Rather unexpected isn't it, to feel like this?"

He runs his hand into her hair, marvelling in how it's fallen loose from her braid and frames her face. "I thought I was too old, in fact I'd decided years ago that I would never have this kind of relationship."

She turns her head, kisses his fingers that thread through her hair, nibbles on the end of his little one, "It's not like you to be wrong."

He chuckles, "No, it isn't is it."

Smiling she leans up and kisses his mouth before folding her arms on his chest and settling her chin on them. He reaches for the sheet and pull it over their bodies.

"You've always been so…"

His eyebrows rise at her expression, "Go on, I won't mind."

"Rigid." She settles on.

"As in boring, do you find me boring?"

She shakes her head at his teasing, "You see, you didn't used to be like that, making jokes, do you know how many years it's taken me to break through and find this humorous person beneath the icy façade?"

"Far too long, you should have chipped harder."

"I worried if I chipped too hard you'd retreat and never be seen again. Besides, how was I to know that you even cared, way back then? You never showed signs of interest. Not for a long time. And then finally friendship, perhaps companionship, someone to talk to at the end of the day. For years I thought that was borne of familiarity, I'd been there so long, we'd worked together so long, we knew each other so well, that you simply had nobody else to talk to in the same way."

"I loved you longer than I dared admit it to myself. It scared me. It still does – I'm not used to all this." He waved his hand around.

"Oh, and I am!"

"I didn't mean that, this," he shook his head struggling for words and mindful of her gleeful expression at his awkwardness. "Oh don't do that, I mean I'm not used to talking like this, about feelings, it isn't how I was brought up."

"It isn't how I was brought up!"

"It isn't the English way."

"It isn't the Scottish way neither," she smiled, tapping her fingertips on his chest. "Perhaps though it can just be our way, not all the time of course, I'm under no illusions – when we go back next week we'll be harassed and busy and barely have time to say goodnight before we fall into bed. But sometimes Charles, sometimes, let's just be like this and talk, really talk. Don't hide from me."

"Never again." He stroked across her hair again, his hand coming to rest on the back of her neck, "Are you hungry, would you like some breakfast?"

"No, I'm saving myself for my luxurious lunch."

"Luxurious?"

"You said it was a treat; where are we going?"

"Harrogate I thought; we can get the bus, make a day of it. See the church, enjoy the fine weather and our freedom."

"Lovely."

Kissing his chest one last time she rolled off of his body and to the other side of the bed, sitting up and dropping her feet to the floor.

"Where are you going?" He said sulkily.

"Bathroom – I'm going to have a quick bath before we go," she glanced back at him, "oddly enough I feel rather… in need of one!"

He listened to her filling the tub and lie there contemplating whether to get up or return to his book. It seemed a little of an anti-climax to do so, so in the end he got up, made the bed and went downstairs in his robe – determined to make himself useful whilst she bathed and dressed.

By the time she shouted down to him he'd cleaned the parlour and mopped the kitchen floor, finding rather a lot of cake crumbs around his chair. He couldn't look at it now in quite the same way, he'd forever see her naked in it and he was still caught between indulging in that wonderful vision and feeling ashamed for having it.

He used her bath water for a quick rinse and enjoyed lying there watching her brush out her hair in front of the mirror. She caught his gaze in the reflection and frowned at him shaking her head, "We'll miss the bus," she tutted, "and then be there too late for lunch."

"We have time, no need to rush."

"My how time's have changed," she leant over him and kissed his head, "there was time you were rushing up and down hallways barking orders."

She was pinning up her hair when he came to dress and he found that as fascinating as watching her unpin it, or doing it himself.

"I'm glad we don't have to do that," he said as she finished and put her hat in place, "I'd have to get up even earlier every morning to fiddle about with all those things. Pins and what-nots."

"I'm glad you don't do it either, otherwise you'd look odd." She said matter of factly as she got up, "Right, whilst you're finishing I'll go tidy downstairs."

"Done."

"Done? You mean you've cleaned downstairs?"

"Completely," he straightened his tie proudly.

"Oh you are wonderful Mr Carson."

"Quite."

She was chuckling as she went downstairs and found her bag and purse, looking forward to their day trip.

* * *

Charles encouraged her to order exactly what she wanted from the menu and damn the cost. He reached for her hand across the table as she scanned the interior of the restaurant, the wonderful artwork adorning the walls, the starched white linen. She flexed her fingers beneath his.

"People will notice," she said gently.

"You're my wife," he smiled, delighting in the sound of the words. "And I can't take my eyes off of you."

She smiled, blushed, "People will notice that too."

"Let them."

She turned her hand over, watching how their palms fit across the other. Her thumb stroked his wrist and she felt his skin shiver.

"I like this," she said still staring at their hands, "I like how we are."

"As do I." He cleared his throat, still leaning towards her, "I worry we'll lose it when we return there."

She wasn't sure if he deliberately avoided using 'Downton' or not but it struck her nevertheless. They only had four days left and she was beginning to feel like she was on some kind of countdown, a slight anxious tight grip in her chest when she imagined it.

"We don't have to go back." She said looking up at him, her index finger stroking the centre of his palm. "If you don't want to."

"But I do." He held her gaze. "Or rather, I've not quite talked to myself about leaving."

She smiled, "I understand that." She slid her hand from his and reached for her water. "We don't have to make any decisions yet."

"Will you resent me?"

She swallowed her water, her eyes narrowing, "Resent you? Why?"

"I don't want to have to make a choice –,"

"Nobody's asking you to." She interrupted.

"No, what I was going to say is, my choice would be you. But I don't want to have to make it."

"You don't. Charles." She reached forward this time, gripping his folded his hands tightly in hers. "I don't want to make a choice neither. We'll know when it's time. It will be odd, very odd, but we've survived worse. We made it to this point didn't we, despite our well-tuned self-repression."

He allowed himself a small smile at that.

"When it's time to go we'll know, I'm sure of it. Let's just enjoy every single moment."

"I am."

"I had noticed." She tapped his hands one last time with hers before pulling back and allowing the maid to serve their tea.

They walked after lunch, in and out of shops, Elsie bought trinkets for their home – things Charles couldn't see the purpose of but carried nevertheless.

And as late afternoon drew in they walked to Prospect Place and stood side-by-side in silence holding hands as they read the names on the newly-erected memorial. Drawing in a tight breath Elsie opened her handbag and took out a handkerchief to dab her eyes; she thought of William and young men like him. All those lost.

Charles squeezed her hand and as selfish as it was she thanked God he was too old to fight. They might never have known this.

"Impressive isn't it." He said gently.

"Very."

"A suitable tribute."

He said no more and she didn't push him to, there were things that didn't need to be said, things she knew about him, the things that lurked in his heart that she knew of but would never share with another living soul.

They turned back to the town, bought cakes and took the bus home.

* * *

With aching feet they sat in the garden as the sun set. It was warm and humid and they shared their cakes and drank cold beer.

"A little paradise," he said, eyes closed as he leant back in his chair, extending his legs.

"I don't usually like beer," she said swirling the liquid in her glass, "but this isn't bad on a warm summer's night."

"Mrs. Carson, don't tell me I'm leading you astray."

"How odd would that sound! Though I have tried quite a few new things of late that I've enjoyed."

He shook his head at her, stretching before he stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To get more beer, won't be long."

She closed her eyes listening to the sounds of the birds, lazy flies, the summer settling down for the night. She wanted to take her clothes off and go swimming in the river, to feel alive.

She brushed the thought aside, it wasn't appropriate.

Charles brushed her hand suddenly and she wondered when he'd crept back, she opened her eyes, sitting up as he pushed something into her hand.

"What's this?" She asked as she put her glass aside and accepted the small box he held out to her.

"A gift," he said simply, sitting in the chair he'd pulled up in front of her.

"Have I done something to deserve a gift?"

"Every day."

She smiled, "You'll make me blush." She gently took the ribbon from the box and eased off the lid.

For a moment they sat in silence; Elsie staring into the box and then breathing deeply, "Oh my goodness," she stated taking the delicate chain from the box. "Charles, this is beautiful."

"I saw it some time ago and thought –,"

"Some time ago?"

"Yes."

"Before we married?"

"Before we even agreed to marry. I thought I'd give it as a Christmas gift, then Christmas came and went so I thought maybe a Birthday and then that went too and I've just had it and never known when to… but it seems right now. And I do so want you to have it."

She found her throat had closed up and felt tight and restricted, it took all her focus to breathe as she handled the chain and the dainty ornaments hanging from it, a small heart and a key, fashioned like the one she was first given when she arrived at Downton, ornate and sculpted. He gave her that key when she became Housekeeper, she remembered that moment as clearly as she remembered their wedding day, as the first moment they kissed, as the moment he'd first admitted his love for her.

"You do like it don't you?"

"Oh goodness Charles," she finally looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Of course I do, of course," she moved forward and slid her arms over his shoulders, being drawn into his embrace. "I love it, thank you. I'll never let it out of my sight."

He was knelt on the grass in front of her and she rested her hands on his shoulders as he fastened the chain around her neck.

"There," he said satisfied, "perfect."

"It is. Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

He kissed her slowly and languidly, letting his tongue encircle hers, tickle the roof of her mouth. She was leaning forward off the chair by the time his mouth left hers, almost in his lap, moaning into his mouth.

"Maybe we should go inside…" he said lowly, his lips still tracing hers.

"Mmm," her hands felt heavy on his shoulders. "We will, let's just have a moment though. It's cool out here and we're alone."

Awkwardly he got to his feet, leaning on her chair to do so. She watched as he moved to his own chair before she got up and stood in front of him, "Not like last night," she teased before settling on his lap, her legs hanging over the side of the chair, her head against his chest.

"Comfortable?" He asked kissing her head.

"Mmm, I might fall asleep."

"That's all right," he kissed her again and closed his eyes, marvelling at the feel of her on his knee, the warm wonderful weight of her body against his. " I gave up dreaming about this kind of thing a lifetime ago," he whispered.

"Me too, it seemed something that happened to others and never me, I accepted that."

"They say God has a plan."

"So he brought us both to Downton? The plan was a little slow moving."

"But we got there in the end, I suppose that's all that matters really."

She yawned, "I think the last few days are catching up with me."

"You're happy with things though, you feel more settled?"

"With Mabel? Yes, I do."

"Good. We'll be lazy tomorrow, stay home and enjoy having to do nothing but be in your company."

She smiled, her fingers sliding along the new chain she wore, "Have I told you I love you today?"

"I don't think so."

"Charles..."

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"And I love you Elsie." He held her tighter as he spoke.

"Charles?"

"Yes?"

"Call me Mrs Hughes."

He smiled kissing her head, breathing in her scent, "I love you Mrs Hughes. Even more than I love Mrs Carson!"

She chuckled at his teasing, twisting her head to look at up at him, "We can go inside now, if we don't I'll be asleep and I'm really hoping you're going to show me how much you love me..."

* * *

**_If you're still reading and enjoying please leave a review and let me know. Only a few more chapters to go!_**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Sorry this has taken a while - work has taken over &amp; I lost my muse for a while. I'm not sure they'd really behave the way they do in this chapter but it was fun to write!**_

* * *

**Day 11**

She made eggs for breakfast and they ate outside in the mid-morning sunshine.

"I'm rather enjoying this lifestyle," he said as he rested back in his chair, eyes closed, a cup of tea in his hand.

"I know, routine will be a shock to the system." She let the statement go unanswered – they'd had this conversation far too much of late and she didn't want to push any decisions; she didn't mind returning to work, she just thought it wouldn't be long before they decided that _work _was something to be left in the past.

"What are you working on?"

"A blanket for the bed, it's been a while since I've made anything like it, I might get it finished for winter." She pulled the heavy material over her lap. "Otherwise we'll freeze."

He chuckled; the thought of being alone with her in their cosy cottage during the winter nights filled him with warmth. "I can make a fire, in fact that's a job I can do today, I want to check the fires upstairs - we might have to get someone in to check the chimneys."

She glanced over at him, serene in the sunshine, "Yes, you look like you're in the mood to work."

He only smiled at her words.

"You know your skin is starting to turn brown, and your nose red."

"Just keep on sewing."

"Bossy,"

"It's habit."

"That I do know," she struggled with the material again, "Goodness, I should just buy these things. Is there anything in particular you'd like for lunch?"

"I might walk to the village actually, I could get a few things, I'm happy with sandwiches though, it's too hot for much."

"I know, and it's only just gone eleven, I think I'll manage another twenty minutes before it's too hot for me - you should put your hat on."

"I will."

"How about fish for dinner, you could call and get some?"

"A nice light dinner."

She smiled, remembering her thoughts of walking in the river in the moonlight, of the dear present he'd given her, of falling asleep listening to his whispered endearments.

"I better get up and go or the sunshine will make me doze."

She folded the blanket as she watched him stand and stretch - sometimes it was still amazing to think of him as her husband. She knew things about him that nobody else ever could; the sound of his voice in hushed tones of adoration, the paleness of his skin beneath his clothes, his fears, his joys, his morning routine, the way he slept. Marriage was proving to be more than she ever imagined it could be.

"I won't be long," he said, settling his hat on his head. Then he kissed her cheek lightly, "See you later my dear."

"Enjoy the walk, stay out of the sun."

* * *

It cooled a little after lunch and they spent some time in the garden, tidying the hedgerow, picking newly sprouting weeds from his freshly dug earth. It was hard physical labour but rewarding. And there was a quiet joy that came with working silently side-by-side.

In the afternoon they made strawberry and rhubarb jam, teaching each other how it worked and laughing over the mess as they tried to jar it.

"Think Mrs Patmore will be impressed?" She asked licking the stickiness from her fingers.

"That depends on how it tastes."

"Good," she smiled, "it tastes good. And I'm not a jam fan usually."

"I am."

"I know," she teased. "There was a letter from Anna by the way. Wishing us well, filling me in on the news from London, all seems to be going well."

"So they can cope without us." He slid his hands into the sink and began rinsing the sticky sugar away from the dishes.

She sensed the melancholy in his voice and stood beside him, her hip against his, as she dried the dishes. "Shall we go for a walk, its cooler now and I'd like to get out."

"Yes, let's. In fact let's pack sandwiches again and walk further along the river, I enjoyed that."

"So did I."

"We should invite Mr and Mrs Bates over for dinner once they're home."

She glanced at him quizzically but he was gazing out of the window at the garden, "Yes, we should."

"It will be nice to see them outside of the Abbey walls."

Though she agreed she said nothing, as usual with Charles little-by-little he slowly came around.

* * *

It was nearing late afternoon when they set out on their walk, though still warm enough to do without a coat it was more pleasant as the summer breeze picked up and Charles wore a light jacket.

The land was freshly mowed and the intoxicating fragrance filled the air.

"I love how alive everything seems in the summer," she said gripping his arm as they walked. "So lush."

"I'm an Autumn man myself."

She smiled, "Crunching leaves and playing conkers as a boy."

"Yes, but I like the colours too, I often wondered if I'd be any good at drawing, or painting, I like the idea of trying to capture it."

"Perhaps you should take it up."

"I think I'll be too clumsy with a brush."

"You? Goodness, you have the gentlest hands I know."

He turned to stare at her, wide-eyed, "Really?"

She squeezed his elbow, "I didn't mean like that, I mean the way you handle the fine china, the glassware, not many men have your delicate touch." She teased, biting her lip to suppress her grin.

"Now you are teasing."

"Perhaps a little."

She let go of his arm when they reached the edge of the woods and he sat on a low-slung branch watching as she collected handfuls of wildflowers that covered the ground in a carpet of white and pale blue.

"These will smell wonderful in the bedroom," she said as she put them into the basket he carried. "Shall we go further into the woods this time or back to my spot by the river?"

He glanced at the sky, still clear and cloudless, "Well, weather looks fine, it will stay light until late, let's go on an adventure."

"An adventure?"

"Every day with you for the past two weeks has been an adventure," he offered, leaning his head forward towards hers.

"Oh really," she granted him a kiss, stood as she was by the branch he sat on she was at just the right height to lean on his shoulders as she kissed him. "You're quite the flatterer when you want to be."

"Take your hair down?"

"What?"

He kissed her again, lightly at the side of her mouth and then down her chin until she tilted her neck back and let him kiss the delicate skin there.

"Take your hair down," he whispered again. "I like it."

"I know you do but it's hardly…" she glanced around, there was nobody about, or likely to be, but still she felt rather uneasy doing so.

His fingers were sliding up and around her shoulders now, tickling the nape of her neck, "I can do it."

"Charles…" she closed her eyes, feeling her body respond to his touch, that wonderful tingle of warmth in her stomach, a sudden burst of energy, as if she were coming both undone and alive all at the same time.

He was still kissing her as she began to pull loose the pins and drop them into his open waiting palm. His other hand slid up into her thick, wavy hair as it fell down. It was shorter now and had lightened with the years but still thick, still silky, and she was glad of that. And he certainly seemed to appreciate it.

He took his time fanning it out and framing her face.

"I look a mess now."

"You look wonderful."

"I hope nobody sees us."

He smiled, "They won't, let's go, I quite like the idea of paddling again."

"My you _have_ changed."

* * *

The deeper they got into the woods the denser it became, overgrown and thick where nobody had trod in many-a-year. They clambered over brambles, Elsie had suggested they turn back but Charles was convinced he could hear the distant sound of running water and she rather liked the idea of being completely alone with him out there so she followed and in time she too could make out the sound of water.

At first a tiny trickle, but as they followed it the ground levelled, brambles replaced by moss and rocks as it flowed down into a small stream, not the river they'd waded in days before but big enough to walk in and soothe hot feet.

They found a small patch beneath a tree, large enough for their blanket, and laid it down.

"Check for ants," Elsie said as she sat on a rock to remove her stockings.

"Yes sir," he sat back on the blanket watching her as he absent-mindedly removed his shoes and socks. "Why do you wear those in this heat?"

"So that you can watch me take them off of course."

For a moment he wondered if it were true; she wouldn't meet his gaze and continued to torture him with her slow, deliberate movements as she rolled the fine silk down from beneath her skirt and off the end of her toes.

"Charles…" She prompted, a knowing look playing across her face as she stood up, folding the stockings and placing them in her shoes. "Did you check for ants?"

He glanced up at her stood in front of him, dropped his own socks and curled his hands around her ankles, sliding his fingers up the back of her legs, past her shins, the back of knees – she giggled then and swayed forward at the touch, her hands resting on his shoulders to keep herself upright.

"Stop it, I'll fall."

"I'll catch you." He pressed his face against her skirt, breathing in the scent of her as his fingers continued to wander up her deliciously soft skin.

"You're being silly," she bent forward a little, kissing the top of his head.

"I want you," he whispered, "all the time, I can't help it, at times I think it's improper but then it feels so good and so natural."

"I don't think it improper," she pushed on his shoulders until he lifted his head back and looked up at her, "I think it's rather wonderful, perhaps just bad timing out here."

He glanced around, "We're alone."

"Charles!" She squeezed his shoulders as his hands squeezed the back of her thighs, "We're outdoors."

"But alone. In the middle of nowhere." He pressed his face against her again, sighing happily as the texture of her skirt rubbed his face. She wore a pale blue skirt and he thought how nice it was to see her in something other than black, she suited colour, she brought colour.

He moved his legs, stretched them out, the bulge in his trousers becoming a little impatient – making sitting awkward.

When he cupped her bottom and toyed with the edges of her knickers she stepped back from him, though her hands still rested upon his shoulders.

"I really don't think it's a good idea."

But her body was saying something different. She breathed deeply, looked up at the sky, just visible through the canopy of trees, the darkening hues of purple were coming in, tinged with pink, afternoon rolling into early evening. She loved summer evenings. When you were a child it meant you could play out late in the yard.

"I thought you were a farm girl?"

"That doesn't mean I did this..."

His hands were easing her body back to him and she felt his fingertips teasing the edges of her knickers again, sliding across the frills, the new underwear she'd bought for him, for being a wife.

She bent forward and kissed his head again, keeping her chin resting there and parting her legs slightly as a sign of her agreement. She would see how far it went. She if he chickened out first.

He seemed surprised and momentarily paused in his movements but then realising her consent he tugged on the material until it pooled in his palms and he eased it down her legs, holding steady as she lifted her bare feet and allowed him to take them off and push them beneath his jacket.

_Now what?_ He thought as his fingers slid back up her legs. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of her skin, the heady fragrance of her mixed with the fragrance of summer all around them. He pressed his face against her, kissing her legs through the skirt, "Sometimes," he mumbled, "I want you so badly I think I'll die."

Her eyes were closed too, and she gasped slightly when his fingers reached between her legs, a mix of excitement and fear at doing this outside, where anyone could hear or see… but no, they were hidden well, they were far from a trodden path, from a walkway.

"Sometimes, I can't wait to see you." She gasped again, rubbing herself against him now, craving ever more of his touch. "Sometimes," she swallowed, "at the house, I'd sneak into your pantry in the summer when you were away, to sit in your chair, to smell you in there."

He tilted his head back now, looking up at her, "God knows I love you."

She moved her mouth quickly over his, lowering herself into his lap as they kissed deeply, consuming.

He quickly turned them around until she lay back on the blanket, her skirt bunched up as he moved between her legs, her nimble fingers swiftly opening the fastening of his trousers.

"This must be part of the adventure," she said, her voice shaking.

"Do you want to stop?" his mouth was an inch from hers, his breath hot against her skin.

She shook her head, "I feel very wild."

"You always made me feel that way, it's why I resisted you for so long, it makes me unsteady. Or it did."

"No more?"

"I'm steadier than ever now."

She lifted her chin, encouraging his kiss again, easing her legs around him. She knew this would be no drawn-out act of love-making, this was purely animalistic in the desires they both held – _and to think, there was a time female desire was considered unnatural, evil._ She closed her eyes, her mind mulling on this point as her husband moved inside her. No. How wrong they were. Far from evil, being together like this was heavenly. Surely what the body was made for – to love and give love.

She gasped, her breath tight, her heart pounding. She gripped his back, his shirt bunching in her fingers.

"Oh god Charles."

"Oh yes."

She was moaning aloud now, suddenly no longer aware of being outdoors, making love in the depths of the wood, with all of nature around them.

* * *

"Who would have thought?" She said after, her hand tracing lines over his back as he lay against her. "That we could be like this." She looked up at the sky again. "You must be able to read my mind…"

"How?" he murmured against her neck.

"Last night when I was sitting in the garden I thought of being naked outside, how nice it would feel to feel the breeze against my bare skin, just once."

He lifted his head to look at her, his hair falling forward, a lopsided, triumphant grin on his face. "We aren't naked."

"No. But this is pretty close." She stroked his face, "Dear man."

He kissed her fingertips, "Are you happy Elsie? I so want you to be."

"Immensely. More so than ever before." She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Are you? Or needn't I even ask?"

"You needn't ask, happiness makes me take risks like this."

She chuckled, "Shall we go in the water before we have our sandwiches?"

He responded by pushing his body up from hers; he sat back and held out his hand to pull her to sit, her hair was mussed and unkempt.

"You look… what's the word…?"

"Ravished?" She suggested smiling.

"Something like that."

"Charles…" she rested her hands on the blanket and pushed herself to her knees, leaning towards him.

"Yes?"

She brought her mouth to his ear and whispered, "Tomorrow I want to spend the day in bed. And I want you to do nothing but make love to me."

He sat open-mouthed as she got up, watching as she rolled her skirt over the band at the top of it until it was just below her knees.

"Come on then Mr. Carson." She called back as she dipped her feet into the stream.

"Yes, Mrs Carson."

He rolled up his trousers, opened the basket and took out their sandwiches and the lemonade he'd packed and they sat on the edge of the rocks and swayed their feet through the water as they ate.

"We should get out of the woods before it gets dark," she said, watching the water move to their movements. "Let's go and watch the sunset from the hill above the abbey. Once we get back to the path I know the way, we can go up and around the back of the house. The sky's clear, we'll be able to see the stars if we go up there."

"We should have brought wine; that would have been more romantic."

"This is romantic," she nudged his arm with hers, "we don't need wine. We have wildflowers and lemonade."

"How right you are." He chuckled. "Much better."

* * *

His body still faintly tingled with pleasure as they set off back. She walked in front and he found great joy in watching her hips sway, in the curve of her waist, the way her skirt fitted. He thought of touching her, of listening to her cries of joy, of knowing he made her feel that way. She spoke, on their first night together, of feeling overwhelmed – he remembered how she'd cried and how he feared he'd hurt her – now he was the one who felt overwhelmed, the more he had of her, the more he wanted. It was as if he'd discovered a new drug and he couldn't possibly contemplate giving it up.

He was glad they met no other on the path back through the woods. Once out in the open she loosely pinned her hair back up (much to his disappointment) and straightened her clothing. By the time they reached the top of the hill the sun had set.

Charles lay out the blanket once again and at first they sat, looking down to the house and the village beyond. "This is one of my favourite spots," he said softly.

"I know."

"How?"

"You think I don't know where you disappear to on your afternoon walks? You've come here ever since I can remember." She lay back, folding her arms beneath her head and tilting her face back to look up at the stars. "What a perfect day." She said.

For a moment he watched her, serene in the inky night, her face was soft, relaxed, more beautiful every day.

He moved his face to hers and kissed her very gently before lying next to her, his head moving to rest on her chest as he manoeuvred onto his back and looked up at the night sky. "This is my other favourite place." He said.

She smiled, her fingers tangling in his thick hair as her other hand wrapped over his arm. "I feel young doing this, like a real newlywed."

"Are we fake ones?"

"You know what I mean. We aren't young."

"I refuse to think of myself as old."

"All right."

"I feel young, right now, I feel young every morning I wake with you beside me."

"So romantic," she kissed the top of his head.

"If I can't be romantic on my honeymoon then when can I?"

"I didn't think it was the English gentleman's way..."

"Maybe not. Maybe it's Charles Carson's way."

"I like that."

They lay in silence watching the sky. Peaceful and content.

"Charles? Are you asleep?" She said some time later when the night was dark around them and the sounds of nature had settled into sleep.

"Not quite. Not far off - busy day."

"Hmm, well you can rest tomorrow." She teased, easing him to sit up.

"I didn't think rest was part of your plan." He rubbed his neck, his body aching from the gardening and walking...and other outdoor activities.

She took over massaging his shoulders, "There will be time for rest, occasionally."

He chuckled, "Slave driver. You're worse than the butler."

"I try my best." She got up, holding her hand out to him, "Come on. I'll make tea when we get back and a hot soak for your feet."

"I like you taking care of me."

"The feeling's mutual."

They held hands, taking a long, slow walk back to their cottage in the late evening air.

* * *

**_Thank you for all of your lovely reviews so far (please leave me another if you have time). Special mention has to go to lemacd whose review really made me smile - nice to have had such a touching impact - and to Chelsiefan whose tumblr page brightens my day! X_**


	11. Chapter 11

_**I'm SO sorry this has taken me so long to update. Life got in the way aka work and moving house. Then I lost my muse! Maybe it was because the Christmas episode was so beautiful that I felt I couldn't live up to it. Anyhow, I've enjoyed reading many wonderful Chelsie fics whilst not writing them, so haven't been totally absent.**_

_**For those still reading - thank you.**_

* * *

**Day 12**

"Good morning," he almost purred, wrapping his arms around her stomach and pulling her close against him.

"Good morning, you're happy. What time is it?"

"Would you believe already after 10."

"I would, we were talking until almost 3 this morning."

"Your fault," he kissed the back of her head. "And I'm always happy waking with you, and spending all night talking with you." He pressed his hand against her stomach.

"I'm not used to such flattery. Mornings usually involve trying to make the best of it. And I'm certainly not used to _you_ being so flattering..." She turned over to face him, "Though I am growing used to it."

"You know what I'm enjoying the most?" He asked closing his eyes and snuggling against her.

"Do I need to?"

"I'm not being vulgar," he chided, kissing her head. "Your name, using your name."

"Didn't you always?"

"Not Elsie, not like this." He kissed her again. "Elsie."

"Are you going to keep saying it?" She smiled, tapping her fingers against his arm.

"Elsie. Elsie."

She laughed, "Now you can stop." She rolled out of his embrace.

"Don't go."

"I'm going to make some breakfast, before its time for lunch."

"I'll help," he moved to get up.

"No it's fine, stay here, I won't be long."

* * *

She brought up tea and toast and they sat on top of the bed eating and flicking through their mail – letters and cards, well-wishes still arriving.

"So, what shall we do today?"

"I thought you had plans..."

She glanced over sheepishly at him, "I rather can't believe I said that yesterday." She felt her cheeks flush. "Not like me."

"Not like either of us," he sat back on the bed, stretching out his legs. "We've done things this past week I never dreamed I would... it's rather wonderful though isn't it." His face broke into a wide smile, "I feel I'm discovering something completely new about myself with you."

She reached over and held his hand, "I feel that too, and yes you're right, it is wonderful. There's so much we still don't know about each other, isn't that odd? After all these years together."

He turned her hand over in his and kissed the back of it, settling back against his pillows and closing his eyes as she settled in against him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Who was your first love?" She said gently, trailing her fingers across his palm, listening to the sound of his deep and even breathing beneath her ear.

"That's a rather forward question Mrs Hughes." He said lowly.

She smiled, "Does that mean I don't get an answer?"

"I was six, she was eight, she lived two doors down and she never knew I existed."

She laughed again, squeezing his arm, "Charles, that was your first _real_ love?"

"Absolutely, I loved her entirely. And what about you?"

"Hmm, I was rather fond of a young man when I was fifteen. His name was Jimmy and he was incredibly handsome."

"I hate him."

She laughed harder, "He was lovely."

"You only said 'fond', not love."

"That's because it wasn't love." She said gently, nuzzling his arm with her chin.

"Ahh, then you're not playing the game."

"I am, I asked who your first love was."

"And I told you..."

"...that was _not _a real one." She insisted.

"It was too! Maisie holds a very special place in my heart."

"And Alice?"

He breathed deeply, feeling her hand warm in his. "Different. That was different. Jimmy – was he like Alice?"

"Goodness no. I've only been in love once in my life."

She shifted, moving her head down to lie against his chest, closing her eyes.

He listened to the sound of her breathing, opened his eyes to watch the sunlight casting shapes across the bed, the summer breeze lifting the curtains.

"Is that me?" He finally asked, watching a delicate smile cross her face.

"Of course it's you. Silly old fool."

He paused for a moment thinking, "You asked for first loves..."

"Mmm."

"Not true love."

She took a moment before she turned over to look up at him, her heart full, "Charles."

He brushed his fingers across her cheek, "Do you enjoy using my name too?"

She shook her head smiling, "You're incorrigible this morning, but yes I do, I'm rather enjoying the word 'husband' also."

"And how I've come to adore the word _wife_."

She flopped onto her back, her head in his lap in order to look up at him; there was a thing of simple joy in being able to have these light hearted conversations, "Other favourite words?"

"In the past – dedication..." He mulled on it, his fingers tapping against her upper arm. "Posture."

"Posture?!"

"You did ask."

"That's awful."

"Can I have 'Elsie' as my favourite word now?"

She smiled, "No, I think you should think harder."

"Bedtime..."

"Charles!"

He quickly tilted his head pressing a kiss to her lips, "I am nothing if not honest Mrs. Hughes."

"No," she whispered, her hands circling up around his shoulders. "Nobody could accuse you of that. Just one of the reasons I love you, my dear, dear husband."

* * *

Charles Carson had never considered the fact that as his point in life he'd find 'firsts'.

He was a man of routine and rigour, he knew his mind, he knew his likes and dislikes. So it was a shock to find himself still capable of discovering new truths about himself. Such as, despite years of early mornings and late nights and being grateful of the little sleep he got, he now found he liked to sleep in – preferably with his wife curled beside him. He liked long baths. He enjoyed his garden. And there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_, like the sound of Elsie moaning his name in pleasure. He had come to believe that he could quite happily listen to that sound for the rest of his life without complaint.

And so he took great delight in causing that delightful sound. Watching her face as she swam through the delicious joys of their intimacy. Watching her body responding to his touch. Perhaps this was what she had in mind the previous day when she'd made her uncharacteristic statement, just enjoying each other, pleasing each other. The simple joys that came with being married.

He was knelt between her legs, the air around him warm and still, thick, silent... apart from the soft murmurings coming from her mouth. Sweet words, sighs of pleasure. Her eyes were closed and his felt heavy as he watched her, his hand exactly where she wanted it – needed it – he was getting better every time at finding exactly the right spot, the right pressure, the right moment.

She squirmed on the bed at one particularly keen touch, gasping in the heady summer air. He shifted, moved his hands to her hips and pushed up the nightdress she wore, slow and languidly over her body, skimming her skin with his thumbs as he did so. Eyes still closed she lifted her head to allow him to slip it off.

Her skin was flushed; pink roses colouring the paleness of her chest, her breasts pushing up, curving into his palm as he drew his hands back down her body. He kissed her chest, her neck, down to her breasts, his mouth lingering on her nipples until she was moaning again, her hands creeping up his back, warm thighs pressing against his legs.

"How I love you Charles Carson," she whispered by his ear. She felt wanton, free, a new feeling; a feeling even five months ago she would never have imagined being part of her life. _Touch, love, pleasure,_ had never been features of her vocabulary. And now his name seemed eternally upon her lips – a reverent, blissful sound.

He was silent as he moved over her body; his declaration of love came through in the tenderness in which he touched her.

It appeared to her, when she thought on it, that young people had gotten it all wrong. It wasn't at all about energy and speed; it was about languidness, delicacy, tenderness. That was what love-making was about; still they never told you any of those things in books and she'd certainly learnt naught of that on the farm. Coupling and reproduction yes, the cycle of nature, the cycle of life, but never that passion could come in this form.

And she'd worried before the wedding that she'd be too old for it.

After, naked bodies entangled, they lay in silence, drifting in and out of sleep, the gentle caress of birdsong, the breeze whispering to the trees.

"I wish life could stay like this," he said mid-afternoon, just waking. "Forever summer."

She pressed her face against his chest, breathing in his scent, kissing his skin.

"You have a choice." She mumbled sleepily.

"We have a choice," he corrected. He kissed her hair, wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"Shall we eat in the garden?" She whispered, watching the curtain flap in the breeze. "Make the most of it, there's a pie."

"Of course." He rubbed her back, an odd feeling settling in his stomach.

* * *

It was rather ridiculous that at almost four in the afternoon she was buttoning up her dress and tidying her hair into a neat bun as she made her way downstairs.

The kitchen smelt wonderfully of cooking pastry and Charles was already outside setting up a table for the two of them.

She set about chopping tomatoes and making a salad, a simple dressing, it was all that was needed.

"You're rather enjoying that aren't you?" he said as he returned to the kitchen.

"Don't sound so surprised, I can be domesticated." She bit her lip before looking over to him, "but yes, I am. It's relaxing, now I've settled a little. I was nervous at first."

"Of me?" He put down the chair he was holding.

"Perhaps. Of this, us, being a wife. As you know I've never done it before. I didn't want to get it wrong, to let you down."

"As if you ever could."

She shook her head, "Go and finish setting up else we'll have nowhere to sit and eat."

* * *

"What's this?" She asked as she spread her napkin across her lap and watched him fill her glass.

"Cider, nothing better on a summer evening."

"Goodness, I haven't had cider for years."

"I remember having it as a boy, the odd nip or two from my father's glass." He held his glass towards hers, "A toast, to a rather perfect day."

She nodded her head before taking a drink, "My, that's very good."

"It is, I'll have to thank Mr Nielson, a very nice wedding gift indeed."

She fiddled with her glass as she watched him begin to eat, "Do you think we're past being the subject of idle chatter yet?"

"Perhaps. Though I'm sure the village has rather more interesting things to occupy their time."

"Really? More interesting than a butler marrying the housekeeper, you do realise they'll think we've been… you know… for years."

"Let them think what they will think," he swallowed, "this is a very good pie Elsie," he cut off another piece. "We know the truth, that's all that matters."

"I suppose. Though I'm rather surprised at you taking it all in your stride."

"I'm a changed man, I'll freely admit it, a happy man is a changed man. Are you going to eat?"

She smiled, "Yes," and took another sip of the cider before starting on her own meal.

They remained outside until the sun started to set, sitting side-by-side in their back garden, finishing off the bottle and sharing a small bowl of strawberries.

"I think I'm rather tipsy," she admitted, her cheek pressed against his arm. "It's gone right to my head."

"I know what you mean. And my body clock is all out of sync, these late nights…"

"…And late mornings." She laughed, squeezing his leg.

For a while they enjoyed the companionable silence, nothing but the bristle of leaves in the breeze, the odd bird, the creak of the bench they sat on. Her body was curled up against his, warm and soft, and he lifted his arm up and around her so she could snuggle in closer still.

"Earlier, you said it was _my_ choice. Why not _ours_?" He said lowly.

She breathed, sighed, rubbed his leg again, "Because it's always been your choice. If you wanted to leave tomorrow I'd agree, if you want to stay another year I'll stay. I've told you before, I don't wish to rush you, or push you. You've always been far more attached than I have."

He swallowed, his blood suddenly pumping in his ears. "I think I might want to leave." He could scarce believe he'd said the words.

"If that's what you want." She said finally, gently.

He sensed something in her tone, "But you don't think it is?"

"I think, if I'm honest, that we've had the most wonderful two weeks away from it all, from normal life, and it's easy to be seduced by that. So perhaps making a decision yet is a little sudden."

"A knee-jerk reaction."

"Maybe." She sat up, easing out the tightness in her neck from the position she'd been in. "We should go back, give it a month or so and then decide. I want you to be sure."

He covered her hand with his, "I'm sure of this. I'm sure I love you."

"I'm sure of that too." She turned her hand over and folded her fingers with his. "Shall we go in, I'll make some tea and we can curl up and you can read to me. Because to be honest my eyes are far too hazy to manage it."

"I never thought you unable to hold your drink." He laughed.

"I've never been plied with cider before by my very own handsome butler." She placed a quick kiss to his lips. "Now help me up, else I might fall."


End file.
